THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 

Mrs,  Rudolph  Altrocchi 


(/ 


THE 
LIGHT    OF    PROVENCE 

A  DRAMATIC  POEM 


BY 

J.  S.  OF  DALE 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

Ube  Imfcfeerbocfeer  press 
1917 


COPYRIGHT,   1917 

BY 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 


Ube  •fcnfcherbocfcer  press,  mew  U2orfe 


FOREWORD 

(The  play  is  entirely  historical ;  though  the  char- 
acter of  Douce  (pronounced  Douce),  daughter  of 
Raimond  Berenger,  Count  of  Provence,  is  partly 
imaginary;  and  Adelys  is  compounded  of  Adelaide, 
Countess  of  Burlatz  (see  VI.  Hist.  Languedoc,  Devic 
and  Vaissete,  157),  the  historical  love  of  Arnaud 
de  Merveilh,  and  Ermengarde,  Countess  of  Nar- 
bonne) . 
Authorities:  Histoire  Generate  de  Languedoc  par  les 

RR.PP. 

Dom.     C.  L.  Devic, 

Dom.     J.  Vaissete, 
religieux    benedictins    de    Saint    Maur    (in     15 

volumes,  Toulouse,  1874). 
The  Monk  of  Montemaggiore.     (Isola  de  Oro.) 
Nostradamus. 
History  of  the  Albigenses. 
H.  C.  Lea,  The  History  of  the  Inquisition,  etc.  etc. 

etc. 

Written,    1880-1896. 


iii 

947 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

ALBIGENSIANS: 

ARNAUD  DE  MERVEILH,  called  Rene  of  the  Rose. 

RAIMOND-ROGIER,  COUNT  OF  BEZIERS. 

PEYRE,  KING  OF  ARAGON. 

AYMERIC,  a  Troubadour. 

FOLQUET  OF  MARSEILLES,  a  Troubadour. 

(Later  Bishop  oj  Toulouse  and  a  Catholic.) 
BISHOP  OF  BEZIERS. 
GUIDO,  a  Painter. 
RAMBAUD  DE  VAQUEIRAS 


Troubadours 


BERTRAND  DE  BORN 
BERNARD  DE  VENTADOUR 
GUILHEM  D'AGOULT 
AYMON,  a  Jongleur. 


CATHOLICS: 

SIMON  DE  MONTFORT,  Earl  of  Leicester. 
DOMINIC  GUZMAN,  head  of  the  Inquisition. 
AMALRIC,  Abbot  of  Citeaux,  legate  of  the  Pope. 
THE  MONK  OF  MONTEMAGGIORE. 
EUDES,  DUKE  OF  BURGUNDY. 
COUNT  OF  PONS. 
AMAURY  DE  MONTFORT. 


vi  Dramatis  Personae 

DOUCE,  OF  PROVENCE. 

ADELAIS  OR  ADELYS,  WIFE  OF  RAIMOND. 

COUNTESS  OF  DIE. 

ERMENGARDE  OF  NARBONNE. 

ESCLARMONDA,  ALEZAIS,  Alligensian  heretics. 

ALALTE,  BIANCAFIORA,  ERMENGARDE,  BERTRANDA, 
STEFFANNETTA,  ROSTANGE,  ADELAISCA,  ANNA, 
MABILE,  BRIANDA,  BEATRICE,  ERMISSENDA, 
GIALSERANDA,  IsOARDA,  ladies  of  the  Court 
of  Love. 

Two  soldiers  of  Raimond  VI  of  Toulouse ;  two  citi- 
zens of  Minerva;  two  citizens  of  Beziers;  a 
Herald;  a  Sentry;  a  Shepherd;  choir  of 
maidens;  troubadours;  Dominicans;  Albigen- 
sian  crusaders;  Albigensian  heretics;  soldiers, 
camp  followers;  citizens. 


THE  LIGHT  OF  PROVENCE 


The  Light  of  Provence 


PROLOGUE 

Wrath,  and  the  song  of  birds. — The  wrath  of  men 
Which  worketh  not  the  righteousness  of  God 
But  springs,  twice  nurtured,  from  the  wrath  of 

men. 

The  fall  of  Provence;  and  the  putting  out 
By  Northern  Prankish  hands  of  that  fair  light 
That  shed  a  hope  of  dawn  on  Rome's  decay: 
New  convert  tribes,  led  by  a  bigot  priest 
To  wreak  his  vengeance  on  that  sister  land 
That  bore  in  the  dark  ages  Latin  light 
Of  learning,  art  and  courtesy  from  Rome. 
The  Goths,  departing,  left  a  silent  land; 
Yet  now  that  land  is  France ;  the  gai  SQavoir 
And  joy  of  life  still  spring  from  what  they  slew — 
The  wrath  of  men  to  man,  of  man  to  God 
Then,  underlying  all,  the  ultimate — 
The  woe  of  God  that  worketh  evil  here, 
The  wrath  of  Him,  who  fashioned  man  to  rue 
On  earth  the  ruin  of  his  self -wrought  woe, 
The  stern  grey  earth-light  of  the  clouds  we  breathe, 


2  The  Light  of  Provence 

The  workmate  of  our  days,  the  too-well  known, 
Familiar,  usual,  unavoidable, 
The  tired  anger.  .  .  . 

Then,  the  song  of  birds 
The  one  thing  else,  unknown,  of  little  note 
To  men  who  have  faith  but  in  things  they  make; 
The  breath  of  dawn,  the  light  of  stars  and  sea; 
The  birds,  that  stir  beneath  the  cottage  eaves 
At  call  of  daylight,  little  birds,  which  fly 
Low,  in  the  early  morning,  when  men  dream, 
To  bring  the  speech  of  God  about  their  thatch. 


FIRST  DAY 

SCENE  I 

(An  orchard,  above  the  highroad,  near  Beziers. 
ARNAUD  and  DOUCE.  It  is  a  late  autumn  day 
in  1208.) 

Arnaud  (reads). 

Aubade 

I  live  aforest;  and  hard  by 
A  little  croft  there  is  where  I 
Was  wont  to  lie  by  trees  that  hung 
Green  covert  over  nests  up  high 

In  leafy  spaces  swinging, 
Thence,  far  the  forest  aisles  among, 
The  speech  of  little  birds  was  flung, 

And  back  in  echoes  ringing. 
Now  it  befell,  while  I  did  lie, 

My  thoughts  from  cloudland  bringing, 
A  little  russet  bird  had  sprung 
Out  from  the  shade;  the  woods  had  rung 

The  sweeter  for  his  singing. 
(Yet  till  then  he  had  never  sung, 

3 


4  The  Light  of  Provence 

I  saw  the  bird,  that  he  was  young, 

And  yet  unapt  for  singing.) 
But  now  he  sang  so  wondrously 
That  all  the  rest  made  no  reply, 
And  lying  rapt  in  wonder,  I 
Did  watch  him  as  he  flew  so  high, 
His  song  still  downward  ringing; 
And  fainter,  farther  ever  flung 
The  sweetness  of  his  silver  tongue 

Came  floating  to  me,  bringing 
Songs  strange,  and  of  my  soul  unsung, 
Songs  falling  like  the  rain  among 

The  flowers  from  it  springing; 
Until  he  vanished  in  the  sky. 
He  vanished;  and,  I  trow,  did  die; 
But  singing  .  .  .  singing  .  .  . 

Arnaud:    Dost  like  it,  Douce? 

Douce:  It  is  very  sweet. 

Arnaud:    I  hate  your  tenzons  and  sirventes;  not 
Of  poor  false  men,  but  of  the  buds  and  bees, 
The  seasons  and  the  flowers  would  I  sing, 
Give  me  an  aubade  or  a  serenade, — 
The  rhyme,  recurrent,  rings,  I  dare  to  think 
In  fairness,  very  well? 

Douce:  'Tis  sweet,  indeed. 

Arnaud:    Thou  dost  not  seem  to  like  it? 

Douce:  I — why  no — 

Dear  Arnaud,  in  all  truth,  I  fear,  'tis  sad. 


First  Day  5 

Arnaud:    'Tis  sad?      I  fear,  thou  didst  not  under- 
stand ; 

The  bird,  seest  thou,  is  but  a  thought,  put  for 
Some  fair  young  knight,  stung  by  the  darts  of 

love; 

And  so,  he  soars,  and  flies  afar  but  sings! — ; 
No  more  shall  he  return  to  birds,  his  mates. 

Douce:    And  she,  his  love;  walked  she  not  then 
on  earth? 

Arnaud:    I  fear  me,  thou  art  over  nice.    I  thought 
Thou  wouldst  have  liked  my  verses — Do  not  cry. 

My  Douce,  do  not  cry 

(Kisses  her.) 

Douce:  I  love  thy  verse, 

But  when  it  is  so  sad,  it  brings  the  tears 
To  my  unwilling  eyes. 

Arnaud:  All  things  are  sad; 

Why  prank  them  out  in  lying  verse?    Douce, 
Dear  Douce,  oft  it  seems  that  I  would  stay 
(We  have  grown  up  together,  you  and  I) 
With  thee  forever,  far  from  all  the  world, 
But  looking  ever  on  the  world  God  made, 
With  eyes  he  gave  me,  in  the  light  of  heaven, 
Leading,  in  trust  of  thee,  the  simpler  life 
Like  this  wild  rose  I  hold  here,  in  my  hand. 
Couldst  thou  live  lowly? 

Douce:  Arnaud,  I  would  live 

As  thou  deemst  best;  with  thee,  singing  thy 
songs 


6  The  Light  of  Provence 

Forever,  to  the  music  of  the  bees. 

(A  peal  of  trumpets  is  heard  in  the  distance.) 
Arnaud:    What's  that? 
Douce:  'Tis  Adelys,  come  from  Toulouse, 

And  with  her,  our  great  lord,  Don  Raimond. 
Arnaud:  Hark! 

'Tis  Adelys?     I  saw  her  once — but  once 

(They  lean  over  the  orchard  wall,  'watching 
the  procession.  First  come  four  herald- 
buglers,  bearing  the  arms  of  Beziers  and  the 
cross  of  Toulouse;  then,  a  trades-procession, 
one  ennobled  burgher  for  each  trade,  with 
wains  bearing  sample  products,  saddles  and 
cloth  of  Carcassonne,  leather  of  Toulouse, 
jewellery  and  paper  made  of  rags  from 
Marseilles,  etc.;  then  a  company  of  hal- 
berdiers; then  a  choir  of  maidens,  strewing 
flowers.  Ten  gonfaloniers  follow,  march- 
ing in  double  quincunx,  wide  apart,  bearing 
silken  banners  between  them.) 
Douce:  See  there!  'Tis  Toulouse,  there  is 

Avignon ; 

The  County  of  Provence,  and  Carcassonne, 
And  there,  the  last  one  on  the  right — he  bears 
The  bend  of  Aragon ;  the  viscounty 
Of  Beziers,  and  e'en  Provence,  do  owe 
Homage  to  Aragon. — The  lion  there 
Is  Leon,  and  the  Castles  are  Castile.    But  oh! 
See  there  the  ladies  of  the  court! 


First  Day  7 

(A  hundred  ladies  follow,  splendidly  robed, 
riding  on  white  palfreys  with  golden 
chains  for  bridles.  Beside  each  one  rides 
a  knight  attendant,  gorgeously  equipped 
bearing  an  unsheathed  sword.) 
Arnaud:  Ah  me! 

Douce:  Arnaud,  wouldst  thou  not  like  thyself  to  be 
One  of  yon  brilliant  knights,  armed  all  in  gold, 
His  lady  fair  beside?  O  Arnaud,  look! 

(Eight  maidens,  bare-armed,  walking  in 
satin  shoes,  carry  a  pavilion  of  flowers, 
beneath  which,  in  a  chariot  like  a  sea-shell 
shaped,  sits  ADELYS,  and  by  her  side  KING 
PEYRE  of  Aragon.) 

Arnaud:  I  see. 

Douce:    O  Arnaud,  look! 

Arnaud:  She  hath  a  lovely  gown. 

Douce:    O  Arnaud,  she  is  beautiful !  and  see 
No  jewels  bears  she,  but  a  plain  silk  robe 
She  wears ;  and  in  her  breast  a  simple  rose, 
A  wild  rose,  like  the  rose  that's  in  thy  hand, — 

But  why? — thy  face  turns  pale 

Arnaud:  Nay,   nay, — I  think 

What  have  these  people  done,  to  shine  so  fair? 
(DoucE  looks  at  him  gravely;  he  turns  awayt 
confused.  While  they  are  silent,  the  pro- 
cession halts.  A  troubadour,  FOLQUET  of 
Marseilles,  steps  out  from  the  line  with  his 
lute.) 


8  The  Light  of  Provence 

Folquet:    Know   all   ye  knights  and   singers  of 

Provence! 

That  our  most  gracious  countess,  Adelys, 
Of  Toulouse  Princess  and  of  beauty  queen, 
Deigns  on  this  day  to  hold  her  court  of  love. 
All  ye  who,  loving,  are  not  loved  again ; 
All  ye  who,  having  loved,  have  suffered  wrong; 
All  ye  whose  wounded  hearts  now  seek  redress 
Against  the  gentle  ladies  of  her  court; — 
All  dames  whose  knights  have  failed  in  courtesy, 
In  constancy  or  troth;  prefer  your  plaints 
Before  this,  our  most  puissant  court  of  love; 
And  our  love's  Queen  shall  justly  right  your 

wrongs! 

And  furthermore,  our  Adelys  doth  say 
Unto  the  singer  of  the  lost  red  rose, 
That  her  most  gracious  ear  hath  heard  his  song, 
Unfinished  though  it  be — and  he  whose  lay 
Shall  match  this  unknown  note  as  his  red  rose 
The  rose  her  bosom  bears — shall  her  love  be. 

Douce:    0  marvel! 

(Tumult;    after   a  fanfare    the    procession 
passes  on.) 

Arnaud:  Aye;  and  if  ye  think  it  hard 

To  match  a  red  rose  to  a  white  one,  how 
Shall  ye  make  naught  of  difference  in  souls? 
There  grows  no  wildflower  in  the  common  field 
But  differs  each  from  others ;  but  of  men 
And  height  of  heart  and  depth  of  soul  or  mind 


First  Day  9 

Ye  would  make  nothing;  but  would  trick  them 
out 

According  to  the  chance  of  stage  and  state! 

And  so,  'tis  love  alone  that  dares  transcend, 

Love  bravely  cherished  in  our  fair  warm  sky, 

Love, — that  dares  to  dare  or  dares  to  die. 
Douce:    O  Arnaud,  Arnaud — as  the  moon  the  tide 

Her  look  hath  drawn  thy  hearts  blood  to  thy 

heart — 

Arnaud   (angrily):    The   world,  aye,  priests    of 
heaven,  do  not  dare 

But  truckle  and  compound;  alone  is  left 

The  uncertain  judgment  of  a  woman's  heart.  .  .  . 

Well,   well  .  .  .  'tis  no   unpleasant  mounting- 
stone 

Whence  men  of  mind  ride  o'er  the  world.  Douce, 

Why  art  thou  sad  again? 
Douce:  My  Arnaud,  speak! 

'Twas  thou  who  wrotst  the  song,  whose  broken 
bars 

Are  lost,  like  petals  of  the  red  wild  rose 

She  wore — 'twas  thou? 

Arnaud:  And  if  it  were,  what  then? 

Douce:    You  love  her,  then? 
Arnaud:  My  child,  I  love  not  her; 

Why,  she  is  Countess,  daughter  of  Provence, 

Cousin  to  England,  France,  and  Aragon; 

Aye,  she  is  Queen  of  Earth,  set  up  to  judge 

Our  songs  that  come  from  heaven. 


io  The  Light  of  Provence 

Douce:  Thy  song!    Alas! 

Arnaud:    Wouldst  thou   not  have  me  honoured 

among  men? 

Among  the  kings,  a  poet;  with  poets  a  king? 
Think  on  that  Geoffrey  Rudel,  whose  dear  lines 
Were  writ  in  letters  of  unperished  gold 
To  make  him  deathless  in  the  hour  he  died. 

Douce:    But  he  did  die.     Dear  love,  I  love  thy 

fame, 

Thy  laurels  or  thy  bays;  but  love  thyself 
The  more. 

Arnaud:     Dear  heart,  thyself  and  this  our  love 
Shall  be  entwined  in  wreaths  my  song  shall  weave 
Of  deathless  asphodel;  no  other  name 
Shall  share  it  with  thee ;  as  they  speak  of  word 
And  song,  of  sea  and  shore,  so  thee  and  me ! 
Thus  shall  it  be  immortal 

Douce:  Greatness  thine 

I  know;  for  fame  I  care  not;  with  thee  face 
Death;  only  still  I  ask  thy  love. 

Arnaud:  And  that 

Thou  hast,  and  shalt  have,  spite  of  all  the  world. 
(Kisses  her;  the  fanfare  of  trumpets  is  heard 
faintly,  in  the  distance.) 

SCENE  II 

(Afternoon.    Hall  and  terrace  in  the  castle  of  Don 
Raimond  Rogier;  over  the  door  is  a  helmet,  in 


First  Day  n 

token  of  hospitality  open  to  all.  Ladies, 
knights,  pages  are  sitting  in  groups;  some  play- 
ing chess  or  dice;  on  the  terrace  a  jongleur  is 
singing,  to  the  music  of  the  mandolins.  Enter 
ARNAUD,  lost  in  the  throng  of  troubadours  and 
jongleurs;  he  is  pale  and  much  embarrassed. 
After  him  follows,  at  a  distance,  DOUCE;  she  is 
not  seen  by  him,  and  is  dressed  as  a  flower-girl, 
with  a  veil.  FRONT,  the  Thrones;  with  ADELYS 
and  PEYRE  of  Aragon.  GUIDO,  BERNARD  DE 
VENTADOUR,  GUILHEM  D'AGOULT,  COUNTESS 
OF  DIE,ERMENGARDE  OF  NARBONNE,  AYMERIC, 
AYMON,  RAMBAUD  DE  VAQUEIRAS,  FOLQUET, 
troubadours,  courtiers,  flower  maidens.) 

Bernard  de  Ventadour:    Queen  Adelais,  Adelais. 
Hail! 

Troubadours:    Hail ! 

Guido:    Who  are  they,  Guilhem,  oh  who  are  they? 

Guilhem  d'Agoult:    The  fifteen  ladies  of  her  court 

of  love, — 

Alalte,  Biancafiora,  Ermengarde, 
Bertranda,  Steffanetta,  and  Rostange, 
Adelaisca,  Anna,  and  Mabile, 
Brianda,  Esclarmonda,  Ermissende, 
Giusseranda,  Isoarda — one 
I  do  not  know. 

Guido:  She   has   a   lovely   face! 

Aymeric:   Her  name  is  Douce — Douce  of  Provence. 


12  The  Light  of  Provence 

Guido:     They  say,  the  kings  of  England  and  of 

France 

With  Peyre  of  Aragon,  are  coming  here 
To  celebrate  the  peace  made  by  Toulouse. 

Aymeric  (to  Folquet):    This  peace — it  will  not  last? 

Folquet:  God  comes  this  way. 

The  Pope  hath  spoke;  the  Saint  hath  come; 

the  North 

Shall  send  her  swords  to  slay  these  heretics. 
The  pretext,  that  foul  murder  that  was  done 
On  holy  Legate,  sent  by  Innocent— 

Guilhem:    They  gave  one  fifty  thousand  golden 

crowns 

To  scatter  'mid  the  French  and  English  knights 
I've  sown  the  very  soil  with  sols! 

Guido:  They    say 

The  cooking's  by  wax  candles. 

Ay  man:  Raimond  burned 

Thirty  of  his  best  horses  for  a  show! 

Guilhem:    An    empress,    too,    is    coming!    that 

Eudoxe, 

Daughter  to  Comnenus,  the  Emperor 
Of  Orient — and  she's  that  one  who  came 
To  marry  Aragon,  attended  by  a  pair 
Of  Eastern  bishops;  at  Montpelier 
She  landed,  but  Alfonse  had  wed  Sancie! 
Count  Baux  of  Orange  dared  not  send  her  back; 
So  called  his  burgomasters,  who  advised 
That  he  should  marry  her  himself — he  did. 


First  Day  13 

Monk  of  Montemaggiore:    He's  left  her  since. 
Guilhem:  Perhaps — you  know  the  song? 

"C'est  ni  jamais, 
Et  ni  toujours, 

Qu'est  la  devise  des  amours. " 
I  wrote  a  book  on  loves,  of  olden  time, 

And  how  a  knight  should  win  a  lady's  love 

Monk  of  Montemaggiore:    Thou  hadst  best  taught 

her,  how  to  keep  him,  then! 
In  act  and  word,  thou'rt  dissolute. 
Guilhem:  The  song 

Of  old  and  better  times  was  different  sung, — 
"C'est  pour  jamais, 
Et  pour  toujours, 
Qu'est  la  devise  de  I'amour." 
Monk  of  Montemaggiore:    A  change  of  singular  to 

plural!    Pah! 
They're  all  the  same. 

Guilhem:  La  bele  Isolde  of  Ireland  said : 

"Ther  be  withyn  this  londe  but  four  loveres, 

Guinever,  Lancelot,  Tristan,  and  I!" 
Monk  of  Montemaggiore:    Pah! 
Guido:    Look — Rambaud    de    Vaqueiras    comes 

there 

Close  by  that  lady  standing — who  is  she? 
Guilhem:    Now  may  sweet  Venus  pardon  thee, 

rude  boor, 

That's  our  Countess  of  Die. 
Guido:  Listen — she  sings. 


14  The  Light  of  Provence 

TENZON 

Countess  of  Die:     There  is  no  love  ! 
Rambaud  de  Vaqueiras:    I  die  for  love  of  thee. 
I  have  loved  the  Catalana 

And  the  maiden  Genoese, 
Loved  the  eye  of  Barcelona 
And  the  fair  locks  of  Verona 
And  the  ankles  of  Cadiz, — 
English    hands    and    Prankish    faces,— 
Now  my  heart  will  none  of  these; 

/  die  for  love  ! 

Monk  of  Montemaggiore:    Those  words  are  Fre- 
deric the  Emperor's, 

Redbeard,  who  calls  himself  a  troubadour 
And    is    most    generous    of    other    people's 

lands. 
He  scorned  all  women,  therefore  woo'd  them 

all, 

Barbarous  Barbarossa!  he's  no  fool. 
Countess  of  Die:  There  is  no  love: 

Thou  hast  loved  in  Catalan  and 

Barcelona  and  Seville; 
Foot  of  Spaniard,  English  hand,  and 
Frankish  face,  hair  of  Milan  and 

Divers  others  well  or  ill, — 
All  thy  memories  of  all  places 

Scarce  one  woman's  heart  would  fill, 
Of  all  thy  loves. 


First  Day  15 

Monk  of  Montemaggiore:    She  hath  him  there. 
Guido:  Too  much  he  loved. 

Monk  of  Montemaggiore:  Too  much  ? 

Aye,  easily  too  many. 

Guilhem:  Hast  thou  heard 

Of  Gui  d*  Ussel,  and  how  he  left  his  dame? 
He  sang  to  her  most  sweetly,  till  her  heart 
Had  fluttered  to  him,  like  a  bird  at  call. 
So  said  she,  " Gui,  I  can  resist  no  more; 
"But  first  I  will  propose  this  riddle;  which 
"  Of  wife  or  mistress,  wouldst  thou  have  me  be?" 
Monk  of  Montemaggiore:    I'll  warrant  they'd  a 

tenzon  on  it. 
Guilhem:  True; 

He  chose  her  then  as  mistress. 
Monk  of  Montemaggiore:  More  fool  he. 

Guilhem:    So  she  dismissed  him  with  a  sneer  and 

wed 

A  landless  Gascon  noble. 

Monk  of  Montemaggiore:  She  did  well ; 

For  lands  grow  wine  when  women  cease  to  please ; 
She  saved  her  dower  for  a  man  of  sense. 
Rambaud  de  Vaqueiras  (continuing  the  tenzon): 

But  thee  I  love; 
By  thine  eyes  I  swear  to  love  thee, 

By  the  lilies  of  thy  breast 
Deeds  I'll  dare  to  do  shall  prove  thee, 
Songs  I'll  find  to  sing  shall  move  thee, 
Knight,  trouvere,  I'll  never  rest, 


1 6  The  Light  of  Provence 

Give  me  only  thine  own  graces 
Naught  I  care  for  all  the  rest! 

Be  but  my  love. 
Monk  of  Montemaggiore:    Then  do  like  Norman 

William  when  he  met 
His  Emma — first,  he  knocked  her  down ! 
Guido:  Peace,  monk! 

Monk  of  Montemaggiore:    So  made  him  sure  of  all 

the  rest. 

Guilhem:    Be  still! 

Countess  of  Die  (striking  a  final  chord  upon  her 
lute,  as  if  to  end) : 

Not  me  you  love: 
But  the  countess  in  her  castle, 

But  the  lady,  nobly  born, 
Sceptre,  star,  and  golden  tassel, 
Equipage,  array,  and  wassail, 

Knees  of  courtiers,  power  to  scorn; 
Were  it  not  for  these  my  graces 
I  were  a  maid  amidst  the  corn 

For  all  thy  love. 

(She  ends  with  a  laugh,  in  which  all  the 

ladies  join.    RAMBAUD    stands  as    if 

shame-faced,  with  silent  lute.    ADELAIS 

looks  at  him  enquiringly.) 

Ermengarde  (now  an  old  lady,  from  her  throne  first 

speaking): 

Well  sung,  fair  Countess !    Sure  thy  virelay 
Hath  sung  this  pert  young  wren  to  silence. 


First  Day  17 

Bernard  de   Ventadour  (also  now  first  speaking): 

Queen, 
I  come  from  France;  and  if  our  rustic  Northern 

speech 

Do  not  offend  your  Roman  ears,  Gothics  say 
"Nul  gentz  de  coeur  en  langue  de  coeur 

Nes'ymefie." 
King  Peyre:    Bravo !  and  thou  hast  loved  a  Queen 

and  taught  a  King 

To  love  her — Eleanor — as  thou  didst  love  to  sing : 
"Parolz  de  cour  en  gentz  de  cour  je  m'en  defie." 
Tis  war  ennobles — poets  are  but  a  toy ! 
Rambaud:    A  queen  before  a  woman,  she ;  Provence 
Hath  chosen  Adelys  but  queen  of  love. 
"Parolz  d 'amour    en  cceur  aimant  m6fier  ne 

puis." 
Adelais:    Brave  Rambaud !  so  our  light  Provencal 

grace 
Shall  fly  by   France's  six-foot    heavy  pace — 

You  saw,  his  Frankish  metre  did  not  scan ! 
But  to  our  countess — canst  thou  not  reply? 
Countess    of    Die:      They    said    Toulouse    had 

burgher  nobles,  gilt 
Their  spurs  with  gold  of  trade;  not  yet,  our 

North! 
My  father  hacked  their  gilt  spurs  from  their 

heels! 

Rambaud  (now  seizes  his  lute  fiercely  and  steps 
forward] : 


i8  The  Light  of  Provence 

I  die  Jor  love; 
Let  those  who  but  mate  for  marriage 

Talk  of  rank,  and  gold,  and  scorn, 
Count  the  match  a  sad  miscarriage 

If  one  quartering  be  gone; 
In  such  cold  and  lofty  places 
Naked  Cupid's  seldom  born — 

/  only  love! 
Courtiers:    Huzza!  well  sung,  Rambaud  de  Va- 

queiras! 
Countess  of  Die: 

This  is  no  love: 
Be  it  love,  then  what  is  honour? 

Who,  a  maid,  her  troth  hath  said 
Surely  loveth ;  shame  upon  her, 
Land  and  lineage  lie  upon  her, 

If  she  break  it,  being  wed ; 
Break  her  troth,  then  her  disgrace  is 

Wanton — to  love! 
Rambaud: 

I  only  love: 
Love  for  sordid  fetters  cares  not, 

Money's  measure,  worldly  lies; 
Who  knows  love,  and  knowing,  dares  not? 
Past  hath  he  not;  and  future  spares  not 

Though  it  snap  earth's  pompous  ties ; 
Love  hath  no  law,  such  his  high  race  is, 

And  I  but  love. 
All:    Huzza  Rambaud!  what  says  our  Queen? 


First  Day  19 

Adelais:  Bring  here 

The  golden  book  of  all  love's  laws,  compiled 
By  royal  Eleanor,  of  all  lords  Queen — 

(The  book,  bound  in  gold,  is  brought  in  by 
Jour  pages  on  a  cushion  made  of  myrtle  and 
apple-blossom;  the  COUNTESS  OF  DIE  and 
RAMBAUD  DE  VAQUEIRAS  stand  forth  to 
hear  the  award.) 
Adelats  (reads):  "'Twixt  married  persons  true 

love  cannot  be" — 

Rambaud,  I  do  adjudge  thee  victor;  she 
Denies  the  love  of  others,  hence  denies 
Her  own;  gold,  rank  what  they  who  love  not 

win 

She  makes  a  shield  against  a  love  that  dares. 
For  so,  the  singer  of  the  lost  wild  rose 

Hath  said 

King  Peyre:  Who  is  he? 

Adelais:  Nay — the    herald,   read, 

Read  thou  the  broken  song,  and  let  us  hear 
Which  one  of  all  our  lover-poets  can  match 
This  broken  wild  rose  on  its  stem;  and  he 
Shall  rank  and  fame  attain,  and  maybe  love, 
If  it  so  please  to  heaven — and  the  lady ! 
Herald  (reads): 

"The  red  rose  of  the  woodland 

Loves  the  white  manor-rose; 
The  red  rose  bares  his  bosom 
To  every  air  that  blows 


20  The  Light  of  Provence 

And  brings  him  breath  or  blossom 
Of  his  lady  of  the  snows. 

"Still  in  the  great  house  garden 
The  pale  rose  keeps  her  nest; 

She  knows  a  newer  fragrance 
From  woodlands  to  the  West. 

It  stirs  her  heart;  but  trembling 
She  hides  her  lady  breast. 

Monk  of  Montemaggiore:    A  trivial  thing. 
Guilhem:  It  hath  a  pretty  lilt. 

Rambaud:    The  Queen  is  sure  to  like  it. 
Ermengarde:  Hist ! 

"Far  off,  the  wild  rose  feels  it- 
He  knows,  but  cannot  find 

Her,  in  the  great  house  garden — 
So  far  upon  the  wind 

He  flings  his  crimson  petals 
And  seeketh  her  unkind. 

"The  pure  white  rose  uncloses 
To  autumn  winds  her  own. 

There  in  her  great  house  garden 
Safe  by  her  wall  of  stone — 

About  her,  wild  red  petals 
By  autumn  winds  are  blown." 

A  delays  (after  a  silence): 

So,  now — ye  all  seem  lost — as  I  am  lost 


First  Day  21 

In  thought,  or  some  strange  dreaming.     But, 

Rambaud, 

What  lesson  teaches  this? 
Rambaud:  I  do  not  know; 

Perhaps,  that  one  should  kiss — 
Peyre:  One's  neighbour?    No, 

But  far  afield  for  bliss— 

Rambaud:  One  should  not  go. 

Adelais:    But  canst  thou  finish  it? 
Rambaud:  Finish?    why  I 

Have  not  come  here  so  pat  for  poetry. 
Adela'is:    Can  no  one  end  this  song? 

(Several  troubadours  step  forward,  but  after 

preluding,  retire  in  despair.} 

Countess  of  Die:  You  know  the  prize? 

One  look  of  love  from  our  fair  countess*  eyes! 

Arnaud   (stands  forward    quickly,  with    his  lute. 

ADELA'IS     looks    at    him;     DOUCE    starts 

forward,  but  stops  and  shrinks  back;  he  sings) : 

Her  breast  she  would  keep  stainless, 
Her  heart  from  the  wild  free  wood — 

The  wild  rose  leaves  were  scattered 
On  every  wind  and  flood — 

One  petal  that  fell  by  her 

Stained  her  with  a  dead  heart's  blood. 

Adelais:    The  wild  rose  hath  he  in  his  hand — 'tis 

he. 
Thy  name? 


22  The  Light  of  Provence 

Arnaud.    Arnaud  of  Merveilh. 
AdeMs:  Thou  shalt  be 

From  now  called  Rene  of  the  Rose.     Merveilh 
Thy  home?    Thou  wert  my  subject — art  my 

page. 

Thy  station? 
Arnaud:  Student. 

A  delate:  This  day  thou  art  King. 

Shalt  rule  supreme  with  me  this    Court    of 

Love. 
Herald,  if  all  our  plaints  are  heard,  we  now 

adjourn — 
Rene,  thy  sceptre — 

(She  takes  the  red  rose  from  her  bosom,  and 
gives  it  him;  receiving  in  turn  his  own, 
which  she  places  there.  A  procession 
forms,  and  leaves  the  hall,  the  heralds 
blowing  trumpets,  ARNAUD  leading  ADELA'IS 
at  the  head;  even  KING  PEYRE/a/fc  behind. 
The  lute  players  and  jongleurs  follow;  then 
the  general  company,  leaving,  all  but 
DOUCE,  who  stands  like  one  dreaming,  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  throne;  PEYRE  falls 
back,  his  suite  at  a  distance.} 

Peyre  (to  her):  So — art  thou  his  lover? 

Console  ye — all  of  this  is  but  a  jest. 

(Exit  PEYRE.  DOUCE  sinks  upon  the 
floor.  AYMERIC,  returning  from  the  pro- 
cession) 


First  Day  23 

My  girl — my  lady — if  thou  art  a  stranger, 
I  pray  thee,  let  me  help  thee — I  am  known. 

(DoucE  and  AYMERIC  are  alone  in  the  castle 
hall:  ARNAUD  does  not  look  behind.) 

Here  endeth  the  First  Day. 


SECOND  DAY 

January  the  i6th,  1209. 

(Guardroom  in  the  castle  of  ADELAIS  at  Burlatz.  A 
stone  bench,  on  either  side  of  which  pages,  guards, 
and  troubadours  are  lounging;  in  the  centre  a 
table  covered  with  flagons  and  goblets,  guitars, 
zithers,  chessmen,  playing  cards,  etc. — RAM- 
BAUD  and  BERNARD  DE  VENTADOUR,  GUIDO, 
AYMON,  and  others.  Afterward,  ARNAUD  and 
PEYRE. — AYMERIC,  outside.) 

Bernard:  Heigho!  to  such  loves,  night;  and 
drink  all  day — 

It  grows  upon  me  weary. 
Rambaud:  Better  still 

To  drink  all  night  and  love  by  day — or  sleep. 
Bernard:    That's  our  Don  Raimond's  part — and, 
by  the  way, 

How  comes  our  peasant  poet — still  high  in  favour  ? 
Rambaud:    I  think  his  red  rose  somewhat  pale. 
Bernard:  Who  loves 

By  giving  dreams,  must  in  a  dream  be  paid. 

I'd  rather  be  a  juggler  than  a  poet!    At  least 

His  body's  paid,  that  serves. 
24 


Second  Day  25 

A  ymon  (sleepily) :  Give  me  to  drink. 

Rambaud:    Aye,  drink!    But  look,  Bernard,  how 

well  he  is, 

How  pink  before  his  temples!  the  smooth  skin 
But  wrinkles  at  his  bull-like  nape — while  I 
And  thou,  Bernard,  have  wrinkles  at  the  eyes, 
Pale  cheeks,  lips  worn  to  smile  and  sigh,  and 

eyes 

Tired  with  too  much  searching — we,  trouv^res! 
Bernard:    Trouv£res  we  are. — But  not  on  earth 

we  find 

The  thing  we  seek ;  we  sing  no  earthly  thing ; 
If  man  could  find  it,  'twas  no  need,  the  singing ! 
Rambaud:    There  speaks  Bernard  de  Ventadour — 

as  spoke 

Arnaud  Daniel,  that  greater  Arnaud,  he 
Who  died  at  Tripoli,  for  her  still  seeking — 
Where  are  they  now?    What  won  their  love  of 

woman? 

Aye,  or  their  love  of  man?    Defeat  and  death, 
Exile  and  poverty,  their  vows  unheard 
By  her  they  maundered  on — 
Guido:    Give  me  to  drink. 

Bernard:    Nay,     nay — thou'st     drunk     enough. 
The  artist  like  the  juggler  too?  what  ails  you? 

(GuiDO  buries  his  face  in  his  hands,  sobbing.) 
Rambaud:    He'll  wake  that  fellow  Aymon,  as  he 

snores — 
Has  thy  last  picture  failed? 


26  The  Light  of  Provence 

Guido:  I  cannot  bear  't 

Bernard,   Rambaud — ye  know  what  I  would 

paint? 

The  light  of  broken  water  in  a  wood — 
The  lily,  lucid  in  the  forest  shade — 
The  mountain  snows  at  dawn ;  the  salted  sea 
Stretching   at   night    more   far   than    human 

bounds 

To  widening  bay,  to  sinking  reef,  the  wild 
Last  shore,  so  lonely,  where  the  last  hearth-light 
Is  glassed  upon  the  pitiless  grey  wave! 
And  then,  for  man — I'd  paint  the  fireside,  paint 
The  nests  that  human  hearts  make;  paint  brave 

men, 
Paint  warriors,  martyrs,  saints — then,  when  I 

dared, 

I'd  paint  our  Lady,  Empress  of  the  skies — 
In  Italy  at  least  I  painted  saints — 
But,  as  I  have  so  base  a  need  as  bread, 
I  paint  a  wanton  woman. 

Rambaud:  Adelys? 

Arnaud  (who  has  just  entered): 
Thouliest! 

(GuiDO  snatches  a  sword  from  AYMON;  ARNAUD 
rushes  at  him  unarmed.) 

Bernard:        Hold! 

Rambaud:  Here,  Aymon,  wake  there!  hold 

These  youths  from  flying  at  each  other's  throats! 
A  light  word  stings  too  quick  a  heavy  heart! 


Second  Day  27 

Aymon  (awakened  by  the  noise): 

Hush !  still !  young  gentlemen !    I  say,  be  still ! 

(Sleepily,  he  throws  his  arms  around  the  two.) 

Will  ye  be  quiet?    So?  "Well,  light  then!    Ha! 

(As  he  releases  them,  GUIDO  staggers  at  a  blow 

from  ARNAUD,  who  then  snatches  up  another 

sword;    they     cross.     Enter     RAIMOND- 

ROGIER.) 

Raimond:    What's    this?    Is    this    a    Prankish 

barrack?     Knaves — 
Thou  juggler  there,  thy  strength  keep  for  thy 

games — 

And  Guido?  who  is  this?    Ah,  our  young  poet. 
Rambaud,  what  was  it? 
Rambaud  (Sings): 

Love  of  light  woman — 

Glad  love  or  sad — 
Which  is  the  worse  for  us? 

Good  one,  or  bad? 

A  lady  hath  been  called  a  wanton. 
Raimond:  Who? 

Who  called  her  so? 

(All  look  at  GUIDO.    He  is  about  to  speak, 

when  ARNAUD  takes  the  word.) 
Arnaud:  My  lord,  I  am  at  fault — 

'Twas  of  a  maid — for  we  are  countrymen — 
We  knew,  long  since,  at  home. 


28  The  Light  of  Provence 

Raimond:  Aha — well,  quiet  then, 

A  present  woman's  hardly  worth  a  fight, 
Sure,  not  a  memory — 

(He  passes  out.) 

Aymon:  Scarcely,  a  desire — 

Guido  (to  Arnaud) :  Dear  sir,  I  beg  to  tender  you 

excuse ; 

You  bore  you  well;  my  word  was  undeserved, 
But  I'm  half  crazy. 

Rambaud:  That  is  well — but  you, 

Arnaud,  a  pardon  tender;  you're  too  quick. 
You  love  her — what's  a  woman  that  is  loved 
By  more  than  one?  And  what  would  you,  that 

love  her? 
Arnaud:    No  woman  lives,  is  loved  by  more  than 

one 

As  I  love  her;  and  yet,  if  all  the  world 
Did  know  her  truly,  so  to  love  her,  they, 
As  always  I,  proclaimed  their  love  to  all, 
And  open  wore  her  image  on  their  hearts, 
As  it  was  stamp'd  within — yet  all  such  love, 
As  when  the  breath  of  all  a  night  resolves 
In  dew,  upon  a  single  rose — such  love 
No  more  would  tarnish  her  than  incense  doth 
Our  lady  Mary. 

(Goes  out;  BERNARD  follows  him.) 
Guido:  Prr!    A  swain  indeed! 

Aymon:    A  pox  o'  such!    They'd  turn  a  skin  of 
liquor. 


Second  Day  29 

Guido:    Yet  it  was  fine — but  then  he  should  talk 

thus 

Only  of  art,  his  poetry,  or  a  picture; 
'Tis  dreams  deserve,  not  women! 
Rambaud:  Women !    Oh, 

If  women  only  saw!    Were  not  too  dull, 
Too  bound  to  earth,  enslaved,  inadequate 
To  meet  the  part  man's  noblest  dreams  assign 

them! 
Raimond  (re-enters): 

A  woman's  worth  the  having,  not  the  dream- 

ing- 

What  is  this  new  philosophy? 
Guido  (bowing  deferentially):  The  poet 

Who  hath  been  writing  all  day  in  his  cell 
Hath  now  rehearsed  us  some  most  fine  spun 

lines 

That  grace  his  repertory — But,  my  lord, 
Would  you  but  condescend  to  cast  an  eye 
On  my  last  picture? 

Raimond:  Sometime — first  let's  see 

What  hath  the  boy  been  doing  in  yon  cham- 
ber. 

(They  open  a  door,  disclosing  a  small  room, 

empty  but  for  a  chair  and  table.) 
Why,  here  be  rhymes!    The  floor  is  strewn  with 

them, 
They  lie  like  autumn  leaves! 

(Picks  up  a  sheet,  and  reads  it  aloud.) 


30  The  Light  of  Provence 

11  In  her  heart  I  know  she  loved  me; 
Else  how  strange  so  deep  had  moved  me 

Her  beautiful  sad  eyes? 
Love  is  born,  but  no  love  dies." 

Nay,  nay,  my  boy;  but  sometimes  lovers  do! 
(Reads  on.) 

"Love  lay  in  her  heart,  I  know; 
Else,  however  came  it  so 
That  I  He  here?" 

Thou'rt  not  dead  yet;  I  trow  thou  needest 

shortening 

By  a  heart,  or  else  a  head !    Who  is  she,  though? 
Some   village    maid,   perhaps.     Ah    yes,    this 
song. 

(While  }ie  reads,  AYMERIC  is  heard  singing, 
outside.) 

"I  saw  and  loved  a  lily  white, 
I  plucked  the  flower,  for  my  delight, 
I  planted  it  within  my  heart, 
I  tended  it  with  loving  art — 
But  soiled  and  withered,  there  it  lies, 
I  shall  die  when  my  flower  dies. " 

Raimond:    Aha,  the  very  song  I  have  in  hand — 
Call  him 


Second  Day  31 

In  here,  that  sings — meanwhile,  what  have  we 
else? 

(Reads.) 

''She  hath  her  nest  in  the  sun-flushed  clouds 
Over  the  sea,  and  the  vanished  sun." 

That  does  not  look  the  village  maid  so  much — 

(To  AYMERIC,  whom  AYMON  drags  in.) 
Who  are  you,  sir,  that  sing — didst  write  that 

song? 
Aymeric:    Not  I,  sir,  I  but  sing — 'twas  a  young 

lad; 

I  set  it  music,  by  the  stars  last  night. 
Raimond:    At  least,  it  seems,  the  youth  hath  had 

his  will — 
Aymon:    Why  will  he  then   still  caterwaul  so 

much? 

Raimond:    Your  name,  boy? 
Aymeric:  Aymeric. 

Raimond:  Know  you 

This  Rene? 

Aymeric:  It  was  Douce  whom  I  sang; 

A  maid  of  Burlatz;  on  the  distaff  side 
She  hath  blood  royal  of  thy  liege,  Provence ! 
Aymon  (coarsely):    The  maid  is  Douce  called — 

she  seemeth  douce! 

Raimond:    This  Rene  was  it,  then,  that  wrote 
your  song? 


32  The  Light  of  Provence 

Aymeric:    Rene? 

Raimond:     Tis  Arnaud   of  Merveilh    they  call 
Rene. 

(He  shows  the  paper.    AYMERIC  tears  his 

copy  in  two.     They  laugh.) 
Aymon  (mockingly):    Pray,  sing  some  more! 
Aymeric:  Nay,  nay— 

Aymon:  By'r  lady,  tears! 

Aymeric:    It  is  a  lie — a  maid  of  honour,  she- 
She  knows  not  me — 
Aymon:    It  seems,  you  know  not  her! 
Raimond:    He  may  be  right;  see  this,  another 
song! 

(Reads  another  leaf.) 

"O  God,  O  Mary  Mother  for  one  sign — 
Not  word,  nor  letter,  but  some  human  sign, 
As  sun  and  stars  tell  there  is  life  in  heaven- 
Such  as   God  grants  to  all,   save  but   the 
damned." 

This  seems  no  village  maid,    profuse    of    fav- 
ours! 
Guido:    I've  found  a  song!     (Reads.) 

"Her  silence  was  upon  my  lips, 

Her  self  was  all  of  me, 
And  I  rode  today  to  the  hills  away 

Where  far  off  shone  the  sea. 


Second  Day  33 

And  then  I  saw  the  white,  white  ships 

Go  sailing  down  the  bay; 
The  winds  did  fail  and  each  white  sail 

Swam  on  the  edge  of  day." 

Raimond:  'Tis  pretty — is  there  more? 

Guido  (reads  on): 

"  White  sails,  white  sails,  bear  from  my  breast 

My  heart  so  far  from  me 
And  sink  my  love  in  a  coral  grove 

Far  down  the  voiceless  sea. 
Then  she  stay  East  and  I  stay  West — 

White  sails,  take  my  heart  away — 
And  none  shall  know  of  my  love  below 

Where  the  sunken  ship  shall  stay." 

Raimond:    A  sage  resolve  indeed — let's  hope  he 

kept  it? 

Ah,  here's  another  of  the  like  import. 
(Reads.) 

"One  steadfast  level  look  within  her  eyes — L 
And  then  I  knew  my  earthly  life  was  dead. 
Not  any  mummied  monarch  in  the  tomb 
That  is  more  dead  than  I — I'll  look  no  more, 
For  it  were  ill  she  loved  me;  and  thou,  God, 
Not  all  thy  power  can  make  her  evil — " 

Bah! 


34  The  Light  of  Provence 

Guido:    Here  are  some  more  loose  leaves — 

Aymon:  The  man's  a  man 

To  fright  a  woman  into  bearing  ghosts! 

Guido  (reads): 

"Thou  God  immortal  and  all  powerful, 
I  place  a  limit  to  thy  power  here — 
Not  thou  on  earth  canst  now  give  my  soul 
peace!" 

Raimond:    Hm!  hm!    I'm  not  so  sure — but  read 
thou  on. 

Guido  (reads): 

I  wonder  would  I  have  her  know  I  loved  her? 
Perhaps,  I  dead,  she  dead,  my  love  will  die — 
O  God!  to  say  one  word  of  loving  to  her! 
To  bid  some  gentle  carrier,  some  bird 
Sing  but  one  note  of  love  from  me  away. 

0  Mary  Mother,  Mary — nay,  forgive. 

1  were  the  same,  although  she  loved  me  not, 
But  if  I  knew  she  loved  me,  I  must  die." 

Raimond:    I  dare  say  not !    What  hast  thou  there, 

Bernard? 
Bernard  (reads): 

"When  I,  a  boy,  a  wild  bird  kept, 

An  iron  cage  was  all  its  nest; 
The  wild  bird  fed  not,  nor  yet  slept, 

But  on  the  bars  beat  out  its  breast. 


Second  Day  35 

"When  God  in  his  own  wisdom  sets 

A  heart  of  love  in  world  of  laws, 
The  soul  sins  not,  not  yet  forgets, 

But  beats  its  heart  out  on  the  bars.1' 

Raimond:    I'll  make  them  something   stronger! 
Laws  indeed ! 

(Exit.    GUIDO  and  AYMON  follow.) 
Rambaud:    Bernard,  the  boy's  a  poet — a  crowned 

trouv£re ! 
Read  thou  this  dizaine — 

(BERNARD  takes  the  paper  and  reads.) 

The  timeworn  rocks  faced  still  the  sea, 
The  stars  came  in  the  timeless  sky, 
The  never  ceasing  winds  went  by, 
The  still  recurring  seasons  came; 
A  man,  in  some  few  years  to  die, 
Looked  once  within  a  woman's  eye. 
Their  bones  were  dust,  long  years  ago. 
But  spake  the  timeless  stars  unto 
The  endless  sea,  the  rocks  timeworn, — 
"Now  an  eternal  thing  is  born." 

Bernard:  Truly,  he  has  found. 

Rambaud:    And  loves  the  Countess  Adelys! 
Bernard:  Poor  boy. 

Arnaud  (entering  angrily):    Rambaud!  and 

Ventadour!  what's  this? 
Rambaud:    Thy  nest  is  rifled,  boy — we  did  it  not. 


36  The  Light  of  Provence 

Arnaud:    Thou'lt  fight  for  this! 

Bernard:  Nay,    nay,    poor   boy,    believe 

We  would  but  help  thee,  if  we  could. 
Rambaud:  And  thou 

Hast  found;  we  crown  thee  Troubadour,  Arnaud: 
Arnaud  of  Merveilh,  marvel  is  thy  work! 
Seek  not  to  war  with  us  who  are  thy  friends. 
Forget  thyself;  bury  thy  heart;  thy  soul  look 

high 
And  join  the  choir  of  us  who  sorrow  sing! 

(Exeunt;  ARNAUD  perceives  AYMERIC,  who  is 

sitting  at  the  table  weeping.) 
Arnaud:    Who  art  thou? 
Aymeric:  Aymeric. 

Arnaud:  From  whence? 

Aymeric:    Beziers.  .    .    . 

.    .  I  set  thy  song  of  Douce. 
Arnaud:  Douce! 

Where  is  she? 

Aymeric:  Maid  to  Adelys. 

Arnaud:  Ah  me! 

Aymeric:    They  say  thou  darest  to  love  her — 

Adelys — 

Arnaud:    Hush,  hush — 
Aymeric:  They  blamed  the  maid 

that  followed  thee. 
Arnaud:     Douce,  poor  Douce — alas! 

(He  looks  at  AYMERIC;  they  clasp  hands.) 
Aymeric:  Dost  thou  then  dare? 


Second  Day  37 

Arnaud:     Dare?   dare!    Who   speaks    to   me   of 

dare,  in  love? 

Ne'er  shall  she  know  Hove  her;  but  no  more 
Shall  men  and  women,  life  and  death,  and  God 
Avail  to  make  my  love  one  note  the  less! 
I'll  love  until  I  die;  and  then  my  soul 
Shall  seek  her  soul  within  that  other  world 
And  die  for  her  once  more;  and  live  and  die 
And  live  and  die  for  her  again ;  and  so 
Through  all  the  myriad  stars  as  they  do  burn 
My  love  shall  burn  in  each;  nor  be  destroyed 
Until  the  last  lost  star  falls  back  in  God, 
And  I  with  her;  and  so,  no  other  thing 
Shall  then  remain  but  she  and  God  and  I, 

Or  God  alone,  if  she  be  lost  in  him 

(Falls  on  a  chair;  after  a  moment,  bursts  into 
tears.  A  fanfare  of  trumpets  in  the  hall; 
the  doors  are  flung  open.  AYMON,  GUIDO, 
and  others.) 

Aymon:    Hear  now,  you  fool! 

Guido:  The  Count's  new  edict — hear! 

A  pretty  ending  to  a  court  of  love! 

Herald:    "  To  any  jongleur,  troubadour,  who  dares 
Aspire  to  love  a  lady  of  our  court; 
To  poet,  or  page,  or  cavalier  that  makes 
Suit  to  a  lady  of  the  higher  blood, 
She  being  wedded — Raimond  thus  enacts. 
Our  gracious  liege,  to  bring  the  olden  time 
Once  back,  and  cure  the  evil  of  our  day. 


38  The  Light  of  Provence 

The  lady  shall  go  scatheless  save  in  shame, 
But  to  her  lover  shall  be  pain  of  death. 
Hear  and  obey.    I,  Raimond-Rogier. " 
Rambaud   (aside):    The    bars    are    fixt    indeed! 

What  was't  he  said, 

Bernard?    That  love  is  born,  but  dies  not  so? 
(Enter  ADELYS  and  train,  Don  RAIMOND 
with  her.     DOUCE  is  among  the  maids  of 
honour.    AYMERIC    steps   forward,    AR- 
NAUD  stands  up;  then  bows  deeply,  with 
upturned   eyes.    ADELYS  fails   to   notice 
him;  DOUCE  blushes,  but  AYMERIC  turns 
pale.     The  herald  stands  forward  again.) 
Herald:    Our  lady  bids  announce,  today  shall  be 
This  subject  of  our  tenzon ;  Aymeric 
And  Ren6  of  the  Rose  dispute,  which  love 
Doth  bring  more  dole:  of  woman  bad  or  good. 
(The  company  pass  on,  ADELYS  not  pausing 
for  the  herald's  speech.    ARNAUD  stands 
motionless  where  he  had  bowed.) 
Rambaud:    But   where's   the   King   of   Aragon? 

Such  law 

Should  pass  not  in  his  absence. 
Bernard:  Aymeric, 

A  pretty  thought  thou  hadst;  'twill  well  dis- 
pute. 

Guido:    We  painters  only  can  make  ladies  live 
To  future  ages ;  not  thy  foolish  songs. 
We  paint  their  eyes  and  bosoms,  render  these 


Second  Day  39 

Immortal;  ye  but  limn  your  hearts  and  theirs. 

Of  hearts  they  take  no  pride. 
Aymeric:  Are  ours  so  true? 

Arnaud  (to  himself):     My  Adelys — so  love  was 
born — so,  love — 

But  nay!    Love  may  be  slain,  but  no  love  dies! 


SCENE    II 

(Evening.  The  great  hall  of  the  castle.  Pages  are 
lighting  candles,  servants  preparing  for  the  fete; 
DOUCE  enters;  ARNAUD  is  sitting  by  the  guard- 
room door,  through  which  sounds  of  merriment 
are  heard.) 

Douce:    Arnaud?     Thou  hast  been  sitting   here 

since  then? 

Arnaud:    Writing  my  poem. 
Douce  (Laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder):     Do  not 

offend  her! 
Arnaud:  I? 

She  scorns  me! 

Douce:  No — she  dared  not  love  thee. 

Arnaud:  Then, 

I  dare. 

Douce:    O  Arnaud,  she  is  good. 
Arnaud:  Aye,  her  serene 

High  goodness  hath  vouchsafed  no  word,  no  sign, 

No  one  brave  look  to  stir  my  heart  to  living. 

She  brought  me  hither.    Now  you  know !    I  lied ; 

I  met  her  by  the  roadside — and  she  smiled. 

I  broke  my  faith  to  thee,  my  manhood's  prize, 

My  poet's  life,  to  win  a  look  of  her — 
40 


Second  Day  41 

But  when  she  found  I  loved,  it  frightened  her — 
She  dare  not. 

Douce:    Arnaud,  she  is  brave,  and  pure — 

Arnaud:    I  care  not.     I  had  never  dared  to  let 
A  single  heartpulse  ebb  in  love  for  her; 
She  filled  the  Virgin's  shrine  within  my  soul. 
But   now   she's  hedged    about    with    orders, 

rank, 

Her  prudence,  and  his  law,  to  trammel  love, 
She  hath  demeaned  herself  to  baser  arms, 
And  I  dare  cry  aloud,  I  love  her,  I — 
The  Countess  Adelys! 

Douce:  Hush,  Arnaud,  hush! 

(She  sinks  upon  a  chair.) 

Arnaud:    Thy  heart  is  broken  too! 

Douce:  I  knew  it  long. 

Arnaud:    What  now  all  this  world's  laws?     I 

watched  her  still, 
Until  the  moment  came;   the    sword    thrust 

oped 

My  soul  to  ecstasy.    So  now  I  sweep 
And  garnish  all  recesses  of  my  soul, 
As  pure  as  she,  and  then  for  days  do  fast, 
Until  at  last  I  see  her,  once  or  twice 
Within  each  year;  until  she  bade  me  here. 
Why,  Douce,  I  have  dreamed  that  when  I  died 
God  looked  upon  me  so;  and  then  I  stayed 
In  heaven. 

Aymeric  (enters,  singing): 


42  The  Light  of  Provence 

Love  of  light  woman 
Light  the  heart  stirs — 

Which  is  the  evil  love, 
Angel's  or  hers? 

Arnaud:    Hark!    Any  man  could  write  a  truer 

song; 

Tis  only  angels  drive  a  man  to  hell — 
Aymeric:    Save  thou  thy  verses  for  the  tenzon 

then, 

Here  comes  King  Pedro,  as  it  seems,  returned. 
Arnaud:    King  Pedro!     That  is  why — O  God, 

O  God! 
Douce:    Believe  me,  Arnaud,  thou  dost  wrong 

her — 
Rambaud  (overhearing  as  he  enters):  Aye, 

King  Peyre  finds  his  case  as  ill  as  thine. 
Herald   (entering  first;   then   RAIMOND,   ADELYS, 
COUNTESS  OF  DIE  and  courtiers.    PEYRE  joins 
them,  ADELYS  ascends  the  throne): 
Now  hear  ye!  all  ye  poets  or  knights,  draw  nigh! 
Each  hath  a  verse  and  sonnet,  then  reply. 
First  thou,  Arnaud — our  Queen  now  bids  thee 
speak. 

Arnaud:    Love  of  light  woman, 
Good  one  or  bad — 
Which  be  the  worse  for  man, 
Glad  love  or  sad? 


Second  Day  43 

Aymeric:  Glad;  if  his  love  for  her 

Endeth  in  loss, 
Of  it  a  hero  born 
Wars  for  the  Cross. 

Arnaud:    But,  if  he  starve  for  her, 

Scorn  is  his  dole 
Lost  is  his  faith  in  her, 
Lost  is  his  soul. 

Aymeric:   Lonely  do  battle  then 
In  the  heart's  night; 
Die,  the  world's  joy  unknown, 
Leaving  it  light! 

Rambaud,  Bernard:    Aymeric! 

Adelais:  Aymeric,  the  couplet's  won. 

Now  for  the  sonnet,  Arnaud,  try  thou  first! 
Arnaud:    My  sonnet's  on  a  Queen — Herodias! 

No  sorrow  known,  light  laughter  hath  thy  heart 
For  all  eternity,  since  that  one  day 
Thou  sawst  thy  Saviour  fainting  by  the  way, 

And  lookedst  down,  from  thy  light  life  apart, 

Upon  His. sorrow,  and  the  bitter  smart 
Of  thorns,  that  hedged  His  path  from  thine 

away; 
And  thy  heart  found  no  other  thing  to  say 

Than  laughter — to  the  Saviour  of  thy  heart. 


44  The  Light  of  Provence 

Light  woman,  now  throughout  the  tiring  years 
Shalt  thou  laugh — while  thy  soul  afire  with  shame 
From  life  to  death  runs,  and  to  life  thereafter, 
Still  laughter  holds  thine  eyes,  awhile  the  tears 
Well  from  thy  soul  in  anguish  at  His  name 
To  press  behind  thine  eyeballs  strained  to 
laughter! 

Adelais:    'Tis  horrible. 

Rambaud:    But  she  was  no  good  woman.    Thou, 
What  hast  thou,  Aymeric,  to  match  his  sonnet? 

Aymeric:    Maria. 

Arnaud:  She  came  not  to  see  the  Cross, 

As  did  Herodias,  the  one  who  laughed; 
To  the  Tomb  came  not  the  Virgin;  Mary  came, 
Of  Magdala;  you  do  not  call  her  good — 
Yet  first  was  she  to  see  the  risen  Lord! 

Adelys:    Peace,    Rene — Now,    thy    sonnet,    Ay- 
meric. 

Aymeric: 

No  sorrow  knowing,  hath  the  heart  of  sorrow 

Deep  hid  within  thine  eyes;  Mary,  thy  grace 
For  pity  of  today,  the  high  tomorrow 

Turns  its  new  joy  to  sadness  in  thy  face. 
So  new  announced  to  thee,  that  earth,  removed, 

Shimmers  a  mist  of  tears  before  thy  sight, 
Not  seen,  yet  understood;  renounced,  yet  loved, 

Thy  dim  eyes  shining  with  a  higher  light; 


Second  Day  45 

For  thou  hast  looked  upon  the  front  of  God. 
Thy  lips  are  stilled,  for  they  have  touched  the 
rod, 

Foreknowing  His  will,  of  His  mercy  sure ; 
What  to  thee  is  that  flower  of  earth  that  dies 
In  thy  hand?    Thou  art  silent;  in  thine  eyes 

The  infinite  compassion  of  the  pure. 

Addys:    'Tis  beautiful. 

Arnaud:  Pretty  enow — my  friend 

Hath  lived  i'  the  country  and  hath  not  known 
the  world! 

(He  steps  forward  fiercely.) 

St.  Ursula,  upon  her  way  to  heaven 

Once  met  a  pilgrim  lying  in  her  path ; 

His  lips  too  parched  to  speak,  his  eyes  besought 

Her  for  a  cup  of  water — but  his  limbs 

Lay  in  the  dust,  and  on  his  breast  was  blood. 

She  sighed — but,  lest  the  dust  should  touch  her 

robe 

Went  on  to  heaven,  and  was  sainted  there — 
Only,  the  damned  from  hell  cry  out  at  her! 

(Silence.     The  courtiers  look  at  ADELYS.) 
Adelys  (slowly  rising  from  her  throne): 
I  do  adjudge  to  Aymeric  the  wreath — 

(She  descends  the  throne;  the  courtiers  throng 
to  AYMERIC.) 


46  The  Light  of  Provence 

To  Ren6  vanquished,  give  this  cup  of  water. 
(ARNAUD — (RENE)  starts  forward;  then  falls 
upon  his  knees;  ADELYS  takes  a  gilt  cup 
from  by  the  ewer  on  the  table,  drinks  of  it, 
and  gives  it  to  him;  this  takes  place  on  the 
side,  the  crowd,  front,  surrounding  AYME- 
RIC;  some  laugh;   RAIMOND  and  PEYRE 
watch  ADELAIS  closely.) 
Arnaud:    My  lady — 

(RAIMOND  and  PEYRE  come  up;  she  waves 

them  on.) 
Peyre  (bowing):  Raimond,  come  on — for  our 

Queen 

It  seems,  would  give  a  private  audience! 
Arnaud  (as  the  company  are  leaving  the  hall,  to 

ADELYS  alone): 

Let  me  but  say  God  bless  you  once — and  then 
I'll  go — I  pray  you,  speak — Thou  canst   not 

help 
My  praying  for  thee?    Well,    then,    I    shall 

pray. 

God  bless  thee,  ever,  never  tell  thee  so; 
Good — 'tis  a  secret  betwixt  me  and  God. 
Adelys  (turning  aside): 

King  Peyre,  my  lord  and  I  do  bid  thee  come 
To  join  our  banquet. 

(They  go  out,  with  the  courtiers.) 

Guido  (to  ARNAUD):  Told  I  not  thee  so? 

Thy  verse  is  well  enough;  the  World  prevails 


Second  Day  47 

What  ho,  there,  Rambaud?    Aymon,  bring  us 

drink. 
Douce  (lingering  behind)  : 

Thou  hadst  thy  cup  of  water — seek  the  Cross. 
(ARNAUD  goes  after  her;  the  others  drink.} 


SCENE  III 

(Guardroom,  as  in  Scene  I.;  the  door  open  to  the 
great  hall;  it  is  late  at  night.) 

Sentry  (heard  singing  outside): 

Guard  of  the  tower, 

Watch  thou  the  hour, 
The  walls,  lest  any  come 

Armed  with  power, 

Our  sleep  devour — 
Lady  and  lord  are  home. 

Back  from  the  war 
Closed  his  eyes  are, 
He  rests  by  his  true  heart; 
Watch  thou  afar; 
By  morning  star, 

Lady  and  lord  must  part! 

i 

Guido  (to  AYMON):    Where  art  thou  going? 
Aymon:  A  wench  awaits  me — 

Guido:  Aye, 

Money  is  still  the  cheapest  price  we  pay. 

Who  would  be  young,  and  keep  his  life,  should  love 

All,  or  not  any. 

48 


Second  Day  49 

Aymon:  I  love  'em  all — but  first 

Another  drink. 
Guido  (sings  drunkenly) : 

If  a  dame  trouble  thee, 

Make  her  thine  own; 
If  a  face  haunteth  thee, 

Be  her  breast  shown; 
What  though  her  eyes  be  bright, 

Have  at  thy  dame; 
Close  in  thy  arms  o'  night 

The  rest's  the  same! 

Aymon:    Ha,  good!  main  good!    I'll  tell  my  girl 

o'  that— 
Oho,  boy,  drink! 
Bertrand:  Ye  guzzling  swine — Guido, 

Thy  beauty  visions  then  have  come  to  this? 
Guido:    What  would  you?     I  am  living  in  the 

world — 

It  sees  them  not  with  me,  believes  them  not. 
Bertrand:    Then  see  them  thou  alone.     Did  Per- 
ceval 

Desire  companions  when  he  saw  the  Grail? 
Thy  "lily,  lucid  in  the  forest  shade" 
Unseen  of  world  or  men,  remains  a  maid ; 
So  thee,  who  art  of  heaven's  beauty  sure, 
Thy  dreams  of  heaven  here  on  earth  keep  pure. 
But  what  is  this? 

(Lights,  and  a  tumult,  come  from  the  upper 


50  The  Light  of  Provence 

stair;  the  noise  increases;  they  all  start  up. 
RAIMOND  comes  down,  with  guards,  drag- 
ging ARNAUD,  after  him;  KING  PEYRE, 
FOLQUET,  and  other  troubadours,  AYMERIC 
at  the  last.  The  hall  becomes  rapidly 
crowded,  beyond  the  guardroom.) 
Raimond:  My  liege,  I  caught  him  at  our  lady's 

door — 

Peyre:    Who  is  the  fellow? 

Folquet:  I  do  charge  the  man 

A  heretic  and  troubadour — attached 
To  them  of  Albi  that  do  lead  the  schism 
And  Raimond  there,  his  master. 
Raimond:  I,  thou  sayst? 

'Fore  yester  morn  I  never  saw  the  lad. 
Folquet:    And  yet  he  sang  so  pat!    The  red  rose 

thou 

Content  wouldst  see  him  wearing!    If  not  thine 
The  greater  shame,  then,  hers. 
Raimond    (dashes   a   glass    in   his    face):    Thy 

craven  face 

Thus  I,  as  sovereign  prince,  degrade!  Thy  spurs 
So  hack  from  thy  heels!      Now  go;  upon  the 

road 

The  common  routiers,  thy  fellows,  join, 
And  live  by  tricks,  or  alms,  or  robbery, — 
My  liege  of  Aragon,  to  whom  I  deign 
My  homage,  rather  than  to  poor  rough  France, 
Say,  did  I  well? 


Second  Day  51 

Folguet:  Stop,  king^— thy  pride  and  his 

Stay,  for  a  word.    Not  Folquet,  troubadour 
Has  this  loose  vassal  so  insulted!    Spurs 
I've  cast  away,  with  viol  and  coat-of-mail, 
The  robe  of  the  White  Cross  I  wear;  this  scroll 
Within  my  scrip  the  august  speech  of  Rome. 
I,  bishop  of  Marseilles,  and  legate  of 
His  Holiness,  I  give  no  homage — kneel ! 

(He  suits  Ms  act  to  the  words;  RAIMOND  and 
PEYRE  bow  humbly,  but  do  not  kneel;  FOL- 
QUET opens  the  scroll  and  reads,  like  one 
who  hardly  deigns.) 

"Too  long,  Provence,  thy  fair  land  blossoming 
With  poetry  and  pleasant  thought !    Too  long, 
Too  leniently  in  thy  fair  towers  they  live 
And  broider  living  with  all  arts  and  crafts 
And  snares  of  Eastern  learning,  till  they  doubt 
The  Church's  ministers!     Thy   priests,    still 

wed, 

Vie  with  thy  troubadours  in  song,  and  these 
With  our  anointed  kings  in  shock  of  battle. 
Thy  cities  are  too  learned  and  too  fine 
Thy    towns,    republics,    and    thy    burghers, 

knights. 

So  is  thy  fair  life  breeding  heresy." 
Therefore  hath  Innocent  his  legates  sent, 
Amalric,  Abbot  of  Citeaux,  and  I, 
And  Peter  Castelnau,  who  martyr'd  lies 


52  The  Light  of  Provence 

Murdered  by  men  of  Raimond  of  Toulouse, 
Thy  liege  and  lord  of  all  Provence — 

Raimond:  'Tis  false! 

I  had  no  part  in  't! 

Folquet:  Prove  thou  then  thy  truth; 

Provence  is  under  interdict;  Raimond 
The  Pope  hath  excommunicated;  thou, 
Raimond-Rogier,  King  Peyre,  prove  now  your 

faith; 

Hear  now,  thy  Queen  shall  speak — if  it  be  true 
What  thou,  Raimond,  hast  said;  and  Aragon 
Vex  not  his  Holiness  already  vext 
At  the  loose  living  of  thy  subject  courts, 
By  yielding  this  first  trial  of  thy  law — 
If  so  say  Adelys,  and  this  young  man  confirm 
Her  story,  let  him  die  the  death  decreed. 
But  if  the  youth  be  but  a  mask,  a  screen, 
For  Peyre  of  Aragon — then,  Raimond,  join 
Thy  brother  France  against  the  traitors  both, 
Toulouse  and  Aragon.     Speak,  Raimond,  first. 

Raimond:    I  never  saw  the  youth  ere  yester  eve. 

Aymon:    Pray,  father,  I  would   but    put    in   a 

word — 

He  is  the  same  young  gallant  that  we  caught 
A-rhyming  in  this  guardroom,  rhyming  to 

Folquet:    Peace,  fool.     But  thou,  and  first — thy 
name? 

Arnaud:    Arnaud. 

Folquet:    Arnaud — no  other? 


Second  Day  53 

Arnaud:  ...    Arnaud  of  Merveilh. 

Folquet:    Thy  errand,  then? 

Peyre:  Aye,  sirrah,  tell  thy  errand 

And  speedier  a  lie  bring  death  than  truth ! 
Arnaud:    I  came — (ADELYS  appears).    I  cannot 
tell— 

(He  is  silent;  PEYRE  puts  his  hand  to  his 
sword.) 

(DoucE  appears.) 

Douce:  My  lady,  pray — 

Adelys  (taking  her  hand): 

Have   thou   no   fear,   dear   girl — Naught   can 

harm  me — 
What  wouldst  thou  say?    Why,  speak  then — 

Holy  Priest, 
This  maiden  fair  and  pure  hath  won  my  love, 

My  dearest  maid  of  honour 

Douce:  Not  to  him, 

But  to  the  King.     Sire,  I  must    speak;    our 

Queen 

Is  guiltless;  Arnaud  injured  not  thy  law; 
I  am  no  maid  of  Provence  but  a  country  girl; 
For  love,  I  followed  him  to  court ;  I  am — 

He  came  this  night  to  see  me — I'm 

(She  swoons.) 

Aymon:  His  wench, 

Aymeric    (starting   forward    toward    DOUCE): 

Then  God  forgive  thee! 
Arnaud:  Nay — 


54  The  Light  of  Provence 

Peyre:  Enough  of  this. 

A  petty  scandal!    Masquerading  maids 

We've  seen  ere  now 

Raimond:  But  none  so  lovely.    Well, 

You  Folquet,  priest,  since  priest  you  are,  go 

back 
To  tell  thy  Pope  of  this  new  story. —    Sir, 

(To  ARNAUD.) 

Thy  little  life  is  saved,  though  at  some  cost. 
In  reputation  to  your  douce  ladye ! 
Begone,  the  pair  of  you — and  get  ye  wed. 
Arnaud:    Oh,  Douce,  Douce! 

(He  falls  at  her  feet,  clasping  her  hands,  and 

kissing  them  passionately.) 
Adelys:  Rise — Not    you — Poor    girl! 

So — this,  Sir,  is  thy  love? 

Arnaud:  Oh,  Douce,  Douce! 

Aymeric:    She   breathes   once   more — God   bless 

her — Come,  away! 

Arnaud,  I  know  a  place  within  the  hills 
Breathes  peace;  beyond  or  priest's  or  prince's 
word 

Arnaud,  bring  thou  her  there 

Arnaud:  Oh,  Douce,  Douce ! 

Here  endeth  the  Second  Day. 


THIRD  DAY 

July  the  2 1st,  1209. 

SCENE    I 

( The  Rock  of  Menerba.  A  public  square  before  the  old 
fortress-church  on  the  peak  of  the  rock;  far  below, 
the  plains  lie  hazy  in  the  level  light;  it  is  the  hour 
before  sunset.  BERNARD  DE  VENTADOUR  on 
guard,  with  a  page.  Enter  ARNAUD,  dressed  as 
an  Albigensian,  in  the  garments  of  a  "working 
friar,"  but  about  his  waist  a  sword!  A  few 
people,  women  and  youths,  are  in  the  square. 
The  page  unstrings  a  lute,  and  BERNARD  pre- 
ludes; as  he  sings,  a  greater  company  assembles, 
issuing  in  part  through  the  cathedral  doors.) 

Bernard  (sings,  in  French): 

Joie  d'amour  ne  dure  une  heure 
Peine  d'amour  dure  toute  la  vie; 
Peine  de  terre  ne  dure  qu'une  heure, 
Joie  de  ciel  dure  pour  jamais. 
(He  sees  ARNAUD  as  he  ends  the  couplett 
DOUCE  comes  out,  and  with  her  AYMERIC, 
waiting  behind  until  she  addresses  him.) 
Douce  (going  up  to  ARNAUD)  :  Brother! 

(She  kisses  him.) 

55 


56  The  Light  of  Provence 

Arnaud:  My  sister! 

(He  lays  Ms  hand  upon  her  head.) 
Christ's  peace  be  on  thee,  and  His  mother's  love! 
And,  Aymeric,  thou  too? 

Aymeric     (dressed  as  a  poor  man,  with  the  Peni- 
tent's crosses  on  his  breast,  coming  forward) : 

Whence  hast  thou  come? 

What  news  from  Beziers?     Doth  still  the  foe 
Besiege  our  lady? 

Arnaud:  I  am  come  from  Rome, 

Service  doing  unto  my  master  Raimond,  as 
Doth  he  to  Innocent,  once  called  by  us 
Servant  to  the  servants  of  God. 

Voices:  From  Rome! 

Where  Gregory,  great  Hildebrand,  gives  place 
To  Innocent  the  Third,  the  Anti-christ, 
Who  arms  the  Cross  'gainst  us,  not  Palestine — 
The  Scarlet  Woman;  he  the  Anti-christ! 

Aymeric:    The  Bishop!    Peace! 

Bishop  of  Beziers:    Kneel  not,  my  son,  thou  knowst 
We  Good  Men  kneel  not  unto  men,  but  God ! 
No  man  is  holy,  all  are  brethren — 
What  word  sends  us  the  Holy  Father? 

Arnaud:  War! 

To  priests  and  poor  men,  women,  children,  all 
Even  to  babes  unborn  whose  mothers  bear 
The  black  cross  on  the  breast,  or  who  have  wed 
Or  born  a  babe  to  any  one  of  us, 
Or  who  have  sheltered,  succoured,  seen,  aye,  talked 


Third  Day  57 

With  one  of  us ;  whose  roof,  whose  parents'  roof 

Hath  covered  one  of  Albi — so  we're  named — 

While  to  each  rentier,  Brabazon,  who  kills 

Or  rapes  or  murders  one  of  us,  or  stills 

An  unborn  child,  he  gives — indulgences; 

Perpetual  absolution  for  the  crimes 

He  have  committed  or  he  yet  shall  do. 

The  crusade  for  the  Holy  Land  recalled, 

Crusade  is  preached  by  him  against  Provence, 

Of  cheaper  lust  and  glory;  he  who  wars 

Against  Toulouse,  or  Roger  of  Beziers 

Or  Raimond — he  may  leave  his  gear  at  home! 

No  usury  shall  run  upon  his  debts, 

Him  none  shall  sue;  may  leave  his  wife  behind, 

His  concubines  the  ladies  of  Provence, 

Whose  lives  he  haply  spares, — fairer  than  they 

Of  Palestine  and  with  less  travel  won; 

May  leave  his  soul  behind!  for  Innocent 

Decrees  him  heaven  when  too  old  to  sin. 

Bishop:    And  Raimond? 

Arnaud:  Excommunicated — thou 

Degraded — interdict  upon  Provence. 

Bishop:    Who  leads? 

Arnaud:  Folquet,  the  bishop  of  Marseilles 

Once  troubadour;  Citeaux,  the  legate  he 
Who  charged  our  Raimond  Peter's  murderer, 
All  wear  the  mocking  cross  upon  the  breast, 
To  show  they  war  on  us  as  Saracens ! 
And  chief  is  that  barbarian  of  the  North, 


58  The  Light  of  Provence 

Montfort  of  England,  claiming  all  Provence 
As  but  the  French  king's  fief — Poor  Louis,  he 
Once  wrote  himself  too  rude  to  write  to  us 
Lest  he  offend  our  ears — but  dares  not  fight. 

Bishop:    But   surely,   all's  not  by  the  sword — 

doth  not 

The  Holy  Father  also  try  to  win  us  back 
By  prayer,  or  peace,  or  by  the  Virgin's  love? 

A  rnaud:    Not  he — or  stay — yes,  he  hath  sent  to  us 
An  order  new  of  monks;  they  copy  us, 
Live  poorly,  take  no  money,  use  no  land 
To  fatten  Rome  with  churches — as  they  say — 
A  Spaniard,  at  their  head,  one  Dominic; 
Him  Innocent  hath  charged  to  bring  us  back 
By  some  new  clever  rules  of  inquest,  to 
The  Church 

Bishop:      We  never  left  the  Church,  the  Pope — 

Voices:    Anti-christ!    Anti-christ! 

Bishop:  Ah  peace,  my  friends, 

The  holy  Church  is  ours,  and  Innocent 
Most  surely — why,  they  call  us  the  Good  Men; 
God's  will  shall  work  through  his  appointed 

church 

Aye  e'en  through  Innocent,  the  Priest  of  Rome — 
We  call  him  servant  of  God's  servants  still. 

Arnaud:    The  monk  of  Citeaux  hath  in  private 

said 

'T  were  well  thou  shouldst  be  killed  in  battle,  lest 
Thy  trial  should  reveal — 


Third  Day  59 

Bishop:  God's  will  be  done! 

Meanwhile,  in  prayerful  hope  for  this  poor  land 
We  too  have  formed  an  Order — Capucins 
Who  wear  the  pallium,  and  plate  that  bears 
The  image  of  the  Virgin,  with  the  words 
"Agnus  dei  qui  tollis  peccata  mundi" — 
A  carpenter,  a  poor  man,  had  a  dream 
That  such  might  rid  our  land  of  Brabazons 
And  bring  a  day  of  peace,  so  that  the  son 
Of  murdered  sire  would  spare  the  murderer. 
The  peace  of  the  most  blessed  Mary,  come 
To  our  poor  land ! — But  now,  the  Angelus — 
(He   bares  Ms  head;  all  stand  reverently. 
After   the  prayer  enter  a  procession   of 
young  women;  DOUCE  is  among  them;  she 
sees  ARNAUD,  who  is  standing,  leaning  on 
his  sword,  the  two  white  crosses  hanging 
from  his  cape;  she  passes  on,  her  eyes  cast 
down;  the  maidens  stop  before  the  church 
door,  the  BISHOP  gives  them  his  benediction; 
then  speaks,  in  Provencal.) 
Bishop: 

Oiet,  virgines,  aiso  que  vos  dirum, 
Aisex  presen,  que  vos  commandareum : 
Atendet  un  espos,  Jeshu,  Salvaire  a  nom. 

Gaire  noi  dormat! 
The  Maidens  (singing): 

Venit  in  terra  per  los  vestra  pechet ; 
De  la  Vergine  en  Bethlem  fo  net, 


60  The  Light  of  Provence 

E  flum  Jordan  la  vet  e  bateet; 

Gaire  noi  dormet! 

Bishop  (as  he  speaks,  the  crowd  gathers  more  and 
more,  all  except  the  old  men  in  the  garb  cf 
soldiers;  many,  like  ARNAUD,  wear  the  peni- 
tential crosses): 

Good  Men,  this  market-place  alone  will  serve 
For  ye  to  hear  the  words  of  Arnaud,  come 
But  lately  from  his  pilgrimage  to  Rome. 
Our  church,  you  know,  is  not  a  pile  of  stones 
But  all  God's  earth;  and  as  our  Saviour  says, 
His  temple  hath  become  a  den  of  thieves, 
So  make  we  now  the  market-place  His  church. 
Speak,  Arnaud. 

Arnaud:      Good  Men,  ye  have  heard  our  Head. 
Yes,  I  have  been  to  Como  and  to  Rome 
And  even  to  Ragusa,  to  that  land 
Where  Bulgars  still  keep  pure  the  faith  that 

Rome 

Since  evil  days  of  Sylvester,  hath  lost, 
When  Constantine  seduced  her  first  with  gifts, 
So  brought  the  Apostolic  church  to  earth 
And  made  eternal  power  temporal. 
Faith  of  the  East,  the  dawning  land  of  Christ, 
And  life  of  Paul,  the  perfect  man,  who  led 
First  among  men  the  life  on  earth — so  we 
Are  called  Paulicians  here,  Katharoi  there, 
Good  Men,  we  dare  be  called  in  both.    Now  hear : 
I  found  in  all  our  lands  this  same  true  faith, 


Third  Day  61 

One  God  is  there,  one  Spirit,  and  one  Christ, 

Maker  of  all  things  incorruptible; 

And  Christ  was  born  on  earth,  but  never  died, 

But  only  he  was  seen  to  die  of  men. 

So  hold  we  to  the  creed,  the  Eucharist, 

As  symbol  of  the  life  that  never  died. 

While  things  corruptible,  this  earth  and  world 

Are  wrought  of  Satan,  and  shall  not  endure, 

But,  like  our  bodies,  die.    Hence  fleshly  love 

And  fleshly  death  have  no  place  in  God's  eye, 

But  are  the  veil  of  Satan.     Evil  all 

Appearances;  for  truth  we  may  not  see; 

They  vanish,  and  the  unseen  lasts;  this  world, 

This  seeming  world,  is  hell;  and  all  of  us 

Are  angels  fallen  from  some  other  life, 

Not  purified  till  seven  earthly  lives. 

No  other  purgatory  is  than  this; 

In  that  doth  Rome  lie;  most  of  all  she  lies 

In  giving  men  the  power  to  bind  and  loose, 

In  masses  for  the  dead,  indulgences; 

The  Scarlet  One  shall  bind  the  church  of  God 

By  temporalities;  and  hath,  or  is 

A  part  of  this  coarse  web  where  now  we  live; 

She  murder  doth  when  she  invites  to  war. 

Beware  of  vestments,  images,  the  cross; 

The  gospels  only  are  the  source  of  truth, 

These  ever  should  we  read ;  read,  of  the  old, 

The  Psalms,  Ecclesiastes,  Daniel,  Job, 

Isaiah,  Solomon,  the  prophets  twelve — 


62  The  Light  of  Provence 

The  rest  is  evil.    Freely  read  the  New; 
And  learn  the  gospels  in  your  homely  speech. 
Be  kind,  on  earth,  and  marry  if  you  will, 
But  spiritual  marriage  is  alone  of  God. 
Yet  is  't  no  worse  for  priests  to  wed  than  you, 
So  have  no  faith  in  monkish  professions. 
Fear  not  false  fame  or  poverty,  or  death — 
And  so  thy  brothers'  blessings  unto  ye. 
This  is  the  message  of  the  East — Is't  well? 

Bernard  <le  Ventadour  (advancing  from  the  crowd): 
'Tis  well  with  us  as  yet — Minerva's  rock 
Still  shelters  us  with  lofty  mail  from  him 
The  Englishman,  who  fights  with  naked  fist. 
He  bruises  with  it  yet  on  Carcassonne, 
Our  true  faith  armeth  yet  its  walls — their 

guard 

But  women  and  old  men.     From  Queribus, 
Where  Bernard,  called  the  Thorncutter,  hath 

cleared 

The  furze  which  sheltered  hunted  Catherans, 
The  news  comes  all  have  perished — him,  Bernard 
Posterity  shall  gibbet  in  the  moon, 
The  man  beside  the  thornbush! 

A  rnaud:  Carcassonne  ? 

Bernard:    Its  bells  cry  mercy  yet  to  us  afar; 
The  French  wolf  standeth  yet  at  bay.    Guilhem, 
That  cursed  Guilhem,  who  did  put  the  oath 
Each  second  year  to  every  boy  of  twelve 
Or  girl  of  two  years  more,  did  they  abjure? 


Third  Day  63 

Then  made  each  act  or  speech  with  one  of  us 
Relapse  in  law — so  that  he  sighed  because 
It  were  impossible  to  burn  so  many — 
Yet  said,  "Qui  aytal  fara,  aytal  perira" — 
So  burned  he  all  he  could,  and  burned  again 
At  each  one's  church  his  entrails  and  his  heart, 
Then  threw  the  ashes  in  a  running  stream 
Lest  they  were  kept  and  saved  for  relics — all 
In  name  of  God  and  of  the  blessed  Mary,  and 
Cf  Dominic,  the  Spanish  Dominic, 
As  were  he  in  the  Trinity — Guilhem 
The  citizens  have  burned,  and  made  his  skull 
Into  a  drinldng-cup — until  the  time 
Some  Pope  shall  come  to  canonise  him  too! 
Therefore  hath  Folquet  sworn,   not  stone  on 

stone 
Shall  rest,  in  Carcassonne. 

(RAMBAUD  enters.) 

Arnaud:  Why,    thou,    Rambaud, 

Rambaud  de  Vaqueiras  in  armour  too? 

Rambaud:    All  we  who  loved  the  gentle  life  have 

learned 

From  love  sublimed,  the  white  life  of  the  sword ; 
From  light  of  life  to  battle  brave  with  night, 
From  fair    Provence    to    meet    the    Frankish 

horde, 

From  gentle  eyes,  the  look  to  outface  death, 
From  peace  on  earth,  to  win  the  peace  of  heaven. 

Arnaud:    And  of  Count  Raimond? 


64  The  Light  of  Provence 

Rambaud:  Raimond  of  Toulouse 

Is  old,  and  excommunicate — he  kneels 
Befpre  the  Pope,  and  prayeth  for  his  folk, 
Poor  folk!  by  too  much  light  he  led  astray! 
Raimond-Rogier  hath  thrown  him  in  Toulouse; 
They  say  he  holds  it  like  a  wolf  a  bone. 

Arnaud:    Raimond-Rogier?  where 

(COUNTESS  OF  DIE  enters.} 

Countess  of  Die:  From  Toulouse  I  come, 

A  woman  only,  through  the  Montfort's  lines, 
He  hoping  I  would  tell  thee  that  they  starve. 
Their  eyes  are  bright  with  hunger,  but  their 

hearts 

Still  beat  for  battle — so  they  bid  us  wait, 
For  Aragon  is  ours — King  Peyre  will  come! 
Arnaud:    Thou  too! 

Countess  of  Die:    Not  one  of  all  our  idle  courts 
But  raised  their  love,  of  earthly  joys  outworn, 
To  crave  the  love  of    Christ;    not    one    but 

learned 

To  touch  soft  breasts  to  naked  steel — so  I! 
Bishop:    To  sleep,  then,  and  to  prayer  for  those 

who  need 
Yet  more  than  we  the  might  that  comes  from 

Him 

Who  bids  us  all  so  live,  so  die,  that  still 
Our  deaths,  our  lives,  shall  work  to  win  the 

world 
Back  to  the  truth,  in  Cod's  own  time1    Amen. 


Third  Day  65 

All.    Amen. 

(The  crowd  begins  to  disperse.     DOUCE,  to 

ARNAUD,  walking  aside.} 

Douce:    But  one  thing,  Arnaud,  thou  didst  never 
ask 

One  place  forgot — yet  I  could  see  thine  eyes 

Kindle,  as  each  one  spoke,  to  hear  her  name — 

Adelys — 
Arnaud:    I  have  not  seen  her  since  that  day 

Thou  drag'dst  thy  dear  heart  in  the  mire 

That  I  might  live!    I  live  for  thee  alone; 

I  know  not  where  she  dwells  on  earth. — Douce ! 

Each  day,  each  hour,  I  have  forgotten  her; 

Nay,  every  waking  minute,  every  dream — 
Douce:    Hath  been  that  thou  forgot'st  her — ah, 
I  know! 

I  know,  I  know. 
Arnaud:  Douce,  my  love  for  thee — 

And  were  it  not — in  these  times  other  things 

Than  a  light  woman — 
Douce:  Hush,    thy    words    do    hurt; 

She  wears  the  crosses,  Arnaud,  as  do  we ; 

God  help  me — when  she  loves,  she  will  be  true. 

Alone,  she  leads  our  arms  in  Beziers — 
Arnaud  (eagerly): 

Then  she  is  well? 
Douce:  All,  Rene  of  the  Rose ! 

The  flames  of  war  indeed  sweep  through  our  land 

Licking  with  its  red  tongue  the  lives  of  men, 

5 


66  The  Light  of  Provence 

The  souls  of  women,  withering  the  land — 
Thy  love,  it  withers  not. 
Arnaud:  But  nay — 

Douce:  I  know; 

I  love  thee,  dear,  too  much  not  still  to  know! 
Arnaud:    Douce — when  I  have  won  a  smile  of 

God, 
Purged,  though  it  be  by  death,  my  poor  boy's 

heart, 

Made  it  so  pure  the  Virgin  Mary's  self 
May    dwell    there — wilt    thou    then    believe, 

forgive? 
Douce:     Forgive,     believe?     Arnaud,     I     never 

blamed; 

Dost  thou  not  see?    I  gave  thee,  Arnaud,  love; 
Forgive  thou  her. 

Arnaud:  If  I  do  save  my  soul; 

Else  shall't  appeal  her  at  the  throne  of  heaven, 
When  I'm  a  priest  of  hell;    for   know    thou, 

Douce, 

The  priests  of  hell  shall  be  of  those  whom  God 
Hath  lied  to.     With  the  damned,  not  of  them, 

walk 
They  silent  there;  but  when  they  speak,  their 

speech 

Is  all  that  other  lost  souls  know  for  prayer. 
Good  were  they  not;  for  never  had  they  hope; 
Bad  were  they  not;  their  hearts  bore  too  much 
woe. 


Third  Day  67 

Yet  those  lost  souls  in  hell,  who  priests  would 

scorn, 

And  jeer  at  angels,  look  on  these  with  trust. 
For  they  are  those  whom,  when  they  dwelt  on 

earth, 
God  cheated  with    His    light — made    day    to 

night, 

Good,  evil ;  angel,  devil ;  falsehood,  truth, 
Or  less  false  than  the  truth ;  those  unto  whom 
He  sent  an  angel  with  a  radiant  wing 
A  voice  of  heaven,  eyes  of  noonday  sky, 
But  lust  of  earth  and  power  in  her  heart. 
Such  are  the  ministers  to  hell;  they  go 
From  world  to  worlds,  through  all  God's  endless 

chain, 

Beliefless,  hopeless,  yet  still  serving  Him 
Whose  light  they    may    not    see.     He    trieth 

them 

Thus  sore,  almost  unto  eternity. 
Douce:    He  trieth  them — for  that  he  loves  them 

most. 

Forgive  thou  her. 
Arnaud:     If  I  do  save  my  soul — 

Else  shall't  appeal  her  at  the  throne  of  heaven. 
Douce:    Forgive  thou  her — 

(DoucE  goes  into  a  house,  leaving  ARNAUD 
alone.  After  a  moment,  he  takes  his  lute 
and  preludes.  AYMERIC  comes  out,  and 
listens  as  he  sings.} 


68  The  Light  of  Provence 

Arnaud: 

O  love,  my  dear  love,  in  whose  gentle  eyes 
Dwells  all  my  light  abiding  here  on  earth, 
Days  grow  to  weeks,  and  weeks  to  months 

of  dearth, 
Months,  years — and  still  the  world  between  us 

lies! 

Ah,  love,  my  heart  is  fainting,  though  it  tries 
Bravely  to  beat  the  march  of  life  alone; 
Make  me  some  sign,  love;  for  I  am  as  one 
Who  dwells  in  some  far  star  of  desert  skies. 
The  green  earth's  spring  and  bloom  is  far  to  me 
Who  see  it  through  the  silent  interspace ; 
The  world's  a  cloud  confused;  and  so,  thy 

face, 
Of  all  its  radiances,  alone  I  see. 

So  far  away  I  dwell  from  thee  and  thine. 
Make  me,  dear  love,  for  Mary's  sake,  some 

sigh! 

A  ymeric:    Arnaud  ? 
Arnaud:        Didst    hear    me,    Aymeric?    I    rest 

By  making  sonnets,  as  in  olden  days! 
Aymeric:    Friend,  hide  it  not;  it  is  no  shame  to 

love 

As  thou  hast  loved. 

Arnaud:  0    Aymeric!    that    day, 

That  day  to  me  she  died.     But  I  have  heard 
By  ruined  Tintagel  there  lived 
A  holy  hermit,  known  to  far  and  wide 


Third  Day  69 

For  sanctity,  and  peace,  and  charity. 
But  once  each  year  this  holy  hermit  came 
Dusty,  in  his  friar's  gown,  unto  the  gate 
Of  Camelot,  and  of  the  first  he  met 
"How  goes  Queen  Guinever"?  he  said — And  if 
The  answer  came,  She  lives  and  well — so  went 
Him  back  unto  his  hermitage.    And  then, 
When  haply  answered  they,  She  lives,  the  same 
He  went  him  back  unto  his  cell  and  prayed. 
But  when,  on  that  last  year,  he  met  a  youth 
Who  rudely  answered  him,  "Queen  Guinever? 
Thou  fool,  dost  thou  not  know  that  she  is  dead  ?  " 

dead?" 
41  God's  praise  be,"  said  the  old  man,  and  his 

head 

Raised  he  then  first  to  heaven,  and  he  smiled. 
Spake  twice  "God's  praise  be" — and,  the  night, 

he  died. 
What's  that? 

(The  crowd  begins  to  gather  again;  the  church 

bells  ring.) 
(While  the  stage  fills  again,  the  night  Jails.) 


SCENE  II 

(ARNAUD,  AYMERIC;  BERNARD  DE  VENTADOUR  in 
the  watch-tower;  DOUCE,  GUIDO,  the  BISHOP 
OF  BEZIERS;  ALBIGENSIANS.) 
Bernard  (from  the  watchtower): 

A  messenger — nay,  no  attack; 
A  messenger — he  craveth  entrance,  says 
He  comes  from  Beziers — 
Arnaud:  Beziers! 

Douce:  Alas ! 

Bishop:    News  from  my  fold!    Bid  him  come  in 

— Guido! 

Guido  (the  gates  thrown  open,  enters  feebly  from  the 
steep  cliff-path,  supported  by  two  sentries;  he  is 
pale  and  wasted): 

The  Countess  Adelais  bade  me  come 
To  crave  for  help — for  sixty  thousand  men 
And  English  Montfort  do  besiege  the  tower 
She  needeth  men 

Bishop:  We  have  no  men;  the  few 

Are   needed    here,   that   garrison  these   walls; 

God  will  protect  her — 

Arnaud:    Breaking  forward  from  AYMERIC  and 
DOUCE.) 


Third  Day  71 

I  am  not  of  yours, 

I  went  to  Rome — tell  her  that  I  will  come, 
If  that  she  have  forgiven  me  enough 
To  let  my  poor  life  serve. 

Bishop:  Well   spoke,   Arnaud, 

And  I  will  pray  to  God — nay  I  myself 
Will  go  to  Montfort's  camp  to  intercede, 
The  sheep  are  of  my  fold! 
Guido:  Rene — 

Arnaud:  Call  me 

But  Arnaud  of  Merveilh — 
Guido:  Arnaud,  I  know 

The  way — the  way  to  Beziers — I  can 
I  can  lead — lead  thee  to — what  is  yon  light? 
The    light    I've    tried    to    paint!      Rene— at 

last 

At  last — you  see  it  now — 
Arnaud  (bending  down  and  supporting  him): 

Guido,  of  her? 
Guid-o:    She  lives — the  light  calls — Thou   must 

go  alone — 
Arnaud:    Father,  the  holy  oils — 'tis  too  late — 

(Guido  dies.)  Dead ! 

Bishop:    Dead?    There  are  no  wounds — 
Arnaud:  The  man  died,  starved. 

Father,  I  go  alone — Forgive  me,  Douce — 

(More  tenderly.) 
My  Douce,  listen — I  must  seek  the  Cross. 

(The  last  light  falls  on  GuiDo'sface.    DOUCE 


72  The  Light  of  Provence 

closes  his  eyes.  The  people  kneel.  The 
BISHOP  raises  his  hand.  ARNAUD  de- 
scends, by  the  cliff -path.} 

Here  endeth  the  Third  Day. 


FOURTH   DAY 

July  22d,  1209  (Jour  de  la  Madeleine). 
SCENE  I 

( The  French  camp  before  Beziers.  AMALRIC  Legate 
of  the  Pope;  SIMON  DE  MONTFORT;  FOLQUET, 
Bishop  of  Marseilles;  EUDES,  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy; the  count  of  PONS;  soldiers,  Dominicans, 
Albigensian  crusaders,  Frenchmen  or  Braban- 
$onst  wearing  one  white  cross  on  the  breast; 
women  camp-followers  etc.) 

Montfort:    Most  holy  legate,  we  have  prayed  thee 

come 

That  we  may  have  thy  counsel.     Carcassonne 
Is  fast  besieged,  and  in  it  he  of  Foix, 
Raimond-Rogier,  the  nephew;  and  Toulouse 
Is  held  by  Raimond,  arch  recalcitrant; 
Beziers  but  by  a  woman,  faint  for  food. 
She  first  must  fall;  then  Carcassonne,  I  swear! 
God's  holy  war  goes  on. 

Citeaux:  Children,  well  done! 

And  you,  my  liege — the  Holy  Father  bids 
Me  call  you  Count  of  Provence,  vassal  but 
73 


74  The  Light  of  Provence 

To  saintly  Philip,  King  of  France,  and  lord 
Of  Aquitaine,  neath  only  England's  King 
He  bids  all  hail  thee! 

Knights  and  Crusaders:  Hail! 

Eudes     (aside   to   PONS):  He   goeth   far! 

Pons:    Too  far,  indeed  for  me — RAIMOND-ROGIER, 
A  fine  youth  he !    While  RAIMOND  of  TOULOUSE, 
Brother  to  all  the  kings  of  Christendom, 
France,  England,  Aragon— lord  of  this  land — 
We've  done  him  ill  enough  not  to  despoil 
A  sovereign  prince  his  heritage.     But  hark — 

Citeaux    (reading):    Further,    the    Holy    Father 

sends  this  bull 

To  his  misguided  children  of  Provence: 
"The  miserable  state,  or  rather  say 
Th'  established  misery  of  our  Narbonne 
Hath  long  tormented  with  anxiety 
Our  mind,  suspended  our  right  arm  in  doubt — " 

Elides     (aside):    What   jargon's   that? 

Pons:  That's  holy  rhetoric — 

(Crosses  himself.) 

Citeaux1   (going  on):    This  fruitful  land,  though 

laboured  with  much  sweat 
Though  sweated  with  much  labour,  idle  lies, 
All  virgin  to  the  plow,  while  its  poor  folk 
Have  left  the  holy  church  for  heresies. 
Know  that  felicity  of  sinners  is 

1  This  speech  of  Citeaux  is  entirely  historical  ancf  often  literally 
transcribed. — (Author's  note.) 


Fourth  Day  75 

The  greatest  of  all  infelicities. 
Such  sinners  they  of  Albi.     Do  they  not 
Despise  all  ordination?,-   Call  the  Pope 
The  Anti-christ,  in  that  he  decks  our  Church 
In  robes  and  vestments  and  in  carven  stone, 
And  rules  this  Earth  for  Heaven?     Do  they  not 
Hold  marriage  evil,  chastity  no  virtue, 
Confess  no  sins,  and  absolution  scorn? 
Deny  the  Presence,  creeds  reject,  condemn 
All  masses  for  the  dead?     Degrade  the  Book 
To  versions  in  the  vulgar  speech,  against 
The  council  of  Toulouse,  which  forbade  all 
Save  psalter,  breviary,  or  the  book 
Of  blessed  Mary's  hours?    They  defile 
Our  churches  to  a  meeting-place  for  lust; 
They  call  the  Cross  mere  wood;  dispense  with 

laws 

And  canons  of  the  Church,  but  claim  the  words 
Of  Christ  and  His  apostles  are  enough; 
The  cock  upon  the  steeple  is  no  doctor 
Unto  these;  the  cloth  that  veils  the  Host 
No  better  than  their  breeches;  eat  no  flesh 
That's  born  from  copulation;  so  they  say; 
Such  things  they  do.   Yet  something  in  their  lives 
Hath  lured  the  common  people  to  believe, 
In  that  they  harmless  live  and  pure — well  then : 

Here's  Dominic  the  holy,  pure  as  they, 
For  they  but  chastely  live — while  Dominic 


76  The  Light  of  Provence 

A  virgin  lives,  and  virgin  yet  shall  die; 
Armed  with  a  virgin's  cruelty,  he'll  burn 
Implacably  each  sinner  from  the  land. 
Why  some  time  since,  at  Montreal,  they  burned 
These  false  Paulician  writings;  some  one  there 
One  page  of  Dominic's  put  in  the  flames; 
Pressed  down  upon  the  glowing  cinder,  his 
White  page  but  turned  the  whiter  on  the  coals. 

Now  hear  ye — Dominic  shall  die  a  saint; 
Ere  he  be  canonised,  his  earthly  corse 
Shall  breathe  an  odour  sweet  as  early  rose; 
While  Raimond,  excommunicate,  shall  lie 
Four  centuries  outside  the  holy  ground 
Of  St.  John  in  Toulouse,  and  there  be  seen 
To  rot  away  unburied — Of  his  skull 
There  shall  a  drinking-cup  be  shown, 
Marked  with  a  fleur-de-lys,  to  future  years! 
These  I  foretell,  these  things  that  now  I  tell! 

When  Innocent,  God's  holy  servant,  pleased 
To  establish  this  new  Order,  which  should  go 
Barefoot,  no  money  take  nor  land, 
(For  such  appearance  of  a  spotless  life 
Appear  to  lead  the  vulgar  from  the  truth) 
Among  our  cities  to  dispute  and  preach — 
(For  they  like  preaching,  call  arch  heretics 
Ministers  not  priests — sermons  they  like; 
Well,  sermons  they  shall  have;  sermo  we  call 


Fourth  Day  77 

The  burning  of  a  heretic — a  flaming  text!) 
Dominicans  can  preach,  and  sinners  spy 
Denouncing  to  our  Inquisition.     So 
The  Pope  calls  also  Philip,  to  crusade 
Against  these  worse  than  Saracens;  and  gives 
Full  license  over  body,  life  or  land, 
With  absolutions  for  all  sins  occurred 
To  them  in  such  a  war — the  while  he  bids 
Osma  and  Dominic  to  preach  in  peace, 
Inquire,  convert,  persuade — when  all  else  fails 
To  hand  the  pervert  to  the  secular  arm. 
Eudes:    A  tender  way  to  end  it! 
Pons:  What  is  that? 

Citeaux    (unfolding   a  roll   of  parchment,  to   the 

Dominicans): 

"The  method  of  proceeding:    Heretics. 
When  a  suspected  heretic's  denounced, 
First  block  they  all  his  doors;  then  watch  to 

see 

Who  visits  there;  for  one  who  visits,  greets 
Or  eats  with  heretics,  is  what  we  quaestors  can 
'In  vehement  suspicion* — such  an  one 
Must  penance  do  at  Canterbury  or 
At  least  to  Compostella;  if  the  doubt 
Be  violent,  must  to  the  holy  land, 
To  serve  the  Christian  Empire  in  the  East; 
Sometimes  he  may  return  within  three  years; 
Meanwhile,  his  goods  are  forfeit,  and  his  kin 
In  vehement  supicion.     Should  he  then 


78  The  Light  of  Provence 

Relapse,  the  Church  may  only  save  his  soul, 
Though  he  recant,  his  body  first  must  burn. " 

Eudes:    A  truly  heavenly  mercy! 

Pons:  Hist,  the  rules! 

Citeaux:  Our  servant  Folquet,  Bishop  of  Mar- 
seilles, 

Hath  nicely  drawn  this  holy  Order  rules 
For  working  grace  on  those  of  Albi. — First, 
The  accused  is  cited  thrice — such  caution  shows 
The    Church   her  L  erring   sheep;    in   practice, 

though, 

All  three  are  served  together  and  the  last 
Will  do  for  all — but  only,  if  he's  found. 
More  commonly,  the  man  perversely  hides; 
And  then,  if  absent,  we  interpellate 
And  if  the  erring  soul  make  no  reply 
The  inquisition's  made. — We  find  that  time 
Is  saved  if  we  begin  at  once  with  that. 
We  swear  him,  on  the  Writ,  to  fully  say 
All  that  he  knows  of  heresy — not  of  himself 
Only  (for  that  we  know)  but  others,  dead 
Or  living.     If  the  man  deny,  conceal 
(That  is,  say  nothing) ,  then  he's  put  in  gaol 
And  weakened  by  a  fast ;  kept  severed  from 
His  family;  told,  perhaps,  his  wife's 
In  vehement  suspicion;  or  that  she 
Denounced  him  first  (this  way  we  find 
Most  excellent). — Recalcitrant, 
We  vex  him  with  the  Question — 


Fourth  Day  79 

Elides:  Question?    What 

By'r  lady  may  be  that? 

Pons:  The  bloody  rack. 

Citeaux:    Yet  have  we  kinder  ways — we  find  some 

times 

A  show  of  kindness  best  will  move  the  heart 
Of  men,  inscrutable  in  sin,  who  hope 
To  save  their  wife  or  children — promise  this 
And  you  may  get  most  anything.     Write  down 
The  names  he  calls  on.     After  all  is  said    . 
Question  his  wife  and  children;  with  them  then 
Confront  him;  in  his  frenzy  he'll  say  more. 
The  children,  under  twelve,  may  take  the  oath, 
But  not  to  save  him;  that  is  mala  rei. 
The  wife,  if  pardoned,  wear  the  crosses. 

Thus 

Go  on  with  others,  till  enough  have  told 
The  truth  to  make  a  "sermon";  then  be  these 
Delivered  to  the  secular.     The  Church 
Of  blood-guilt  must  be  free — so  frame  a  prayer, 
A  formal  prayer,  that  mercy  may  be  shown. 
But  on  next  feast  day  be  they  duly  burned 
For  it 's  approved,  no  blood  is  shed  in  burning. 

Eudes:    'Tis  thus  the  Goths  strike  terror  thro* 

the  land, 
But  these  be  fine  Italians! 

Pons:  Wilier  they! 

Citeaux  (continuing) : 
Meantime  the  bier  shall  stand  before  the  doors 


8o  The  Light  of  Provence 

Of  all  that  knew  the  man  accused,  in  sign 
Of  grave  suspicion;  sometimes  fear  will  lead 
Others  to  put  you  on  a  scent  quite  new. 
The  bier  should  always  stand  before  the  door 
Of  them  that  read  the  Bible  in  our  tongue. 
Let  none  of  those  they  call  "Good  Men"  escape 
By  learning  it  by  rote ;  but  send  them  too 
The  bier,  in  sign  that  they  and  theirs  are  barred 
From  God's  great  feast.     And  as  such  even  now 
When  they  are  summoned,  or  the  bier  appears, 
Do  fly  to  Beziers  or  Carcassonne 
"Where  are  none  of  our  Order,  or  Toulouse 
Where  our  writs  run  not;  citizens  of  these, 
Both  men  and  women,  down  to  girls  of  twelve 
Must  wear  the  penitential  crosses;  all 
Are  in  suspicion ;  meanwhile,  I  release 
For  Innocent,  all  men  from  keeping  faith 
With  any  one  of  them. — 

Now  here,  what  fault, 
What  culpae  have  ye  for  today? 

First  Dominican:  Stand  up! 

(A  young  woman  stands  up,  robed  in  black, 
the  two  white  crosses  of  the  heretics  upon 
her  breast.) 

Folguet:    Thy  name  is? 

Woman:  Esclarmonda. 

Folquet:  Woman,  speak! 

For  grace  of  heaven,  'fess  thy  sins  to  us ! 
(ESCLARMONDA  stands  mute}: 


Fourth  Day  81 

First  Dominican:    She'll  never  speak — for  she  is 

in  the  state 
Th'  accused  call  endura — 

(ESCLARMONDA  sinks  to  the  ground.) 

She  is  faint 
For  want  of  food — 
Folquet:     Or  obstinate;  speak  thou 

Then  for  her;  tell  us  what  you  know. 
First  Dominican:  At  home 

(I  living  there)  I  saw  her,  with  her  aunt 
A  woman  called  Servana  greet  two  men, 
Bernard  and  Peter,  heretics.     She  bowed 
To  them  three  times,  and  benedicite 
Each  time  they  uttered.     This  maid  saw  the 

aunt 

Hereticated  last  week,  ere  she  died, 
After  a  week's  endura,  all  she  ate 
A  potion  of  wild  cucumber.     She  twice 
Hath  fled  the  holy  Inquisition's  keep. 
She  calls  the  heretics  "good  men  and  true. " 
Folqiiet:    Ad  murum  strictum — to  the  close  four 

walls. 

Second  Dominican:    She  hath  a  father — 
Folquet:  Holy  Church  withdraws 

The  hand  that  hitherto  kept  him  from  harm. 
(Movement,  and  significant  glances  among 

the  crusaders.) 

First  Dominican:    Woman,  stand  up !    This  lady, 
Alezais, 


82  The  Light  of  Provence 

Hath  let  a  heretic  say  prayers  beside 
Her  dying  son-in-law — 

Folguet:  Then  let  her  wear 

The  crosses  till  such  time  as  she  repent, 
And  watch  her,  watch  each  one  to  whom  she 

speaks, 

Above  all,  her  own  family;  for  God's  grace 
Begins  at  home;  a  Christian  should  denounce 
The  heretics  nearest  in  blood  the  first. 

Third  Dominican:    Pierre  Mauran,  a  laic  of  Tou- 
louse 

Most  notable,  most  rich,  and  ripe  in  years, 
In  virtue  of  mine  oaths  to  give  the  names, 
Of  all  whom  I  suspect — I  here  present; 
He  hath  two  castles,  where  he  preaches  nights; 
He  hath  denied  to  these  that  he  hath  e'er 
Denied  the  wafer  to  be  flesh  of  Christ — 

All:    O  blasphemy! 

Citeaux:  Accursed  Arian! 

Folquet:    Let  him  be  naked  dragged  to  every  shrine 
And  whipt  by  nettles;  on  a  ladder  stand 
At  last  before  St.  Stephen's  Church  tonight 
With  two  red  tongues  a  palm  long  on  his  breast, 
And  salutary  penance  let  him  do 
With  bread  and  water  of  affliction;  then 
Jerusalem,  within  the  forty  days 
Departing,  let  him  seek;  his  earthly  goods 
Are  confiscate;  returning,  let  him  be 
Delivered  over  to  the  secular. 


Fourth  Day  83 

First  Dominican:    Your  holiness,  Seivana  I  forgot, 
The  aunt  of  Esclarmonda,  she  I  said 
Was  dead! 

Folquet:          Her  bones  be  disinterred  and  burned. 
Are  these  then  all? 

Aymon  (rushing  forward) :    Your  holiness! 

Folquet:  What's  this? 

Why  Aymon,  thou?  thou  too  a  heretic? 
Or  dost  thou  but  denounce  one? 

Aymon:  Nay,  the  fault — 

Not  heresy,  may  God  f oref end ! — is  mine. 
Thou  knowest,  holy  Father,  'tis  the  rite 
Of  old,  on  Easter  day,  in  Ste.  Nicaise 
Some  Christian  knight  an  unbelieving  Jew 
To  lend  a  box  o'  the  ears — each  year  'tis  done 
In  holy  memory  of  that  blow  that  Christ 
Bore,  in  the  temple,  from  the  Jews'  high  priest. 
This  year,  the  lot  was  mine;  a  starveling  Jew 
They  brought;  I  hit  him  fair;  but  with  such  zeal 
(Forgetting  to  remove  my  glove  of  mail) 
I  boxed  his  ears,  boxed  out  his  eyes  and  brains! 

Uontfort:     Since  then,  this  man  is  mine,  he  bears 
the  Cross — 

Folquet:     A     comfortable     Christian!    he    were 

shrived, 
Had  he  but  done  the  half — Ho,  ho!  what's  that? 

Montfort:     My  lord,  I  see  a  sally  from  the  town — 
Do  they  submit?    They  come  unarmed — 

Folquet:  Unarmed? 


84  The  Light  of  Provence 

Montfort:    Truly,  they  are! 

Citeaux:  I  offered  them  their  lives 

This  once,  if  they  would  bring  to  me  a  list 

Of  priests,  great  men  and  capitouls, 

Of  heresy  whom  we  by  fire  might  purge, 

So  save  their  souls  for  heaven — they  refused — • 
Folquet:    O  insolent ! 
Citeaux:  Their  bishop  called  them  all 

Assembled,  to  the  church  of  Ste.  Nicaise! 

Hungry  with  siege,  they  threatened  they  would 
eat 

Their  children  first;  demanded  safe  conduct; 

At     last,     and     promise     of     quick    penance. 
This 

I  freely  gave. 
Montfort:  Gave? 

Citeaux:  Aye;  Raimond  has't. 

And    now,    for    their  souls'  good,   the  pious 
fraud 

Hath  grace,  I  trust — be  not  alarmed,  Folquet; 

Unfaithfulness  with  such  is  highest  faith ; 

We  keep  no  faith  with  who  break  faith  with 
God. 

Safe  conduct  shall  they  find — to  grace  in  heaven ! 
Folquet.     O  pious  fraud!     O  fraudulent  piety! 
Elides:    See,  there    they    come — the    gates    are 
opening, 

They  come — 
Pans:  And  Roger  first  of  all — 


Fourth  Day  85 

Citeaux:  Conceal  the  guards, — 

So!    Now  pass  them  through  the  banners  two 
by  two, 

Seize  them  and  bind  them. 

Montfort:  But  the  treaty  pledged — 

Citeaux:    A  treaty  shall  they  have;   but  that  I 
pledged 

Must  be  confirmed  by  me  for  Innocent. 
Raimond  (struggling  with  the  guards): 

What  bodes  this  force?    For  my  poor  people's 
lives 

I  come  to  treat ;  safety  was  promised  me, 

Their  lives  to  them — 
Citeaux:  Four  hundred  shall  be  burned 

And  fifty  hanged;  the  rest  we  give  their  lives — 

How  many  came  ye? 

Raimond:  Not  four  hundred — 

Citeaux:  Thine 

The  blame  then;  had  ye  fully  trusted  me, 

The  others  had  escaped. — Stay,  yet  one  grace; 

Thy  life,  a  sovereign  prince,  is  spared  thee — 
Raimond:  I 

Will  give  it  gladly  for  the  lives  of  these 

I  led  astray. 

Folquet:  The  heretic  confesses! 

Raimond:  Nay, 

The  bishop  made  this  list  of  all  he  deems 

Suspect  of  heresy ;  they'll  wear  the  cross 

In  sign  of  their  repentance — 


86  The  Light  of  Provence 

Citeaux:  Give't  me— good ! 

By  their  own  bishop  these  shall  be  condemned, 
But    thou   shalt   have   thy   life,  if  thou'lt  go 

back 

And  bid  the  town  surrender;  thou  the  twelfth 
Mayst  then  escape;  the  others,  male,  shall  meet 
With  heaven's  justice;  of  the  women,  maids 
Shall  make  a  pilgrimage  from  church  to  camp, 
Clothed  in  their  shifts,  that  it  may  come  to 

pass 

What  martyr  Pierre  predicted,  "des  pucelks 
Ne  r ester  a  ni  manteaux  ni  gonelles" 

Montfort:    And  our  French  nobles  shall  be  there 

to  judge 

The  fair  ones  who  have  virgin  breasts;  of  these 
They'll  make  the  mothers  of  a  new  Provence; 
The  others  who  have  bred  to  heretics 
Shall  to  the  soldiery. 

Raimond:  Mary  and  Christ! 

Know  then,  foul  Briton,  that  thy  Breton  sage 
Merlin,  the  mage,  hath  prophesied  of  thee : 
"Yet  shall  the  stone,  and  she  who  throws  it, 

come, 

That  all  the  world  shall  cry  to  bid  it  home, 
Let  fall  upon  the  sinner!"    That  is  thou, 
And  old  wives  say,  a  noble  demoiselle's 
The  tender  hand  shall  loose  the  catapult ! 

Montfort:    Merlin's  a  fool. 

Raimond:  The  Pope  'twas,  told  it  me. 


Fourth  Day  87 

Citeaux:    Blaspheme  thou  not — Montfort,  a  holy 
vessel! 

Wilt  thou  give  up  thy.  people? 
Raimond:  This  1*11  do 

When  that  ass  flies  to  heaven. 
Citeaux     (to  the  guards):  Bind  him  fast — 

(To  Montfort.}     God's  hand  shall  sure  remove 
this  stumbling-block — 

A  dysentery  let  it  be,  tonight. 

(Aloud.)     Search  him — 
Eudes:        I've  had  enough;  I've  served  in  full 

The  forty  days  I  vowed;  I'll  stay  no  more. 
Pons:    Nor  I.     (Exit) 
Montfort:    Father,  the  guard  brings  other  news: 

A  mighty  cloud  approaches  from  the  South, 

The  dust  of  some  great  army — 
Citeaux:  Press  the  siege! 

Montfort:    They  make  the  banners  to  be  Aragon — 
Eudes:    The  Briton  sinks  his  jaw  upon  his  hand. 

The  news  is  not  to  his  liking — 

(Exit  EUDES,  following  PONS.) 
Citeaux:  Pedro's  a 

Most  Catholic  majesty — so  named  by  Rome — • 

But  he's  of  kin  to  Raimond  of  Toulouse, 

Closer  than  kin,  they  say,  to  Adelys; 

Yet  can  it  be  that  he  whose  ancestor 

Placed  Aragon  beneath  Rome's  special  guard 

And  from  her  took  his  mantle,  sceptre,  orb, 

Then  laid  them  on  Rome's  altar  for  a  sword, 


88  The  Light  of  Provence 

And,    crowned    with    bread    unleavened,  first 

was  called 

Alferez  of  the  Church,  took  first  the  oath 
To  prosecute  all  heresy,  renounced 
All  right  of  patronage  to  Rome,  and  paid 
Annual  five  hundred  mancuses,  so  that 
His  very  priests  rebelled  his  too  great  sanctity 
And  formed  "la  Union"  'gainst  him — can  it  be 
Of  all  men  he's  against  us?    Well,  they  say 
He's  dangerous  more  i'  the  bower  than  the 
field. 

Folquet:    His  very  heir  was  born  by  stratagem 
When  he  begot  her  on  his  lawful  wife; 
For,  thoughtful  of  the  blood  of  Aragon, 
His  nobles,  so  they  say,  tricked  him  with  her 
In  lieu  of  some  light  lady,  at  a  feast! 
Still,  it  is  strange  that  Spain,  which  Innocent 
Of  all  lands  favoured,  should  him  first  betray. 

Citeaux:    Nay, 

"From  Toledo  and  from  Naples 
Came  in  one  night  all  witches'  capers  " — 

Trust 

The  Spaniard  not.    What's  that? 
Guard  (to  Montfort):  A  letter,  sire, 

We  found  'neath  Raimond's  coat  .of  mail. 
Montfort:  Let's  have't, 

What's  this?  'tis  true,  'tis  Aragon  who  writes, 


Fourth  Day  89 

'Tis  written  to  a  woman — Adelys? 
(Reading.) 

He's  coming  with  a  host ;  all  Aragon 

Attends  him,  bids  her' to  hold  out  and  hope, 

"  Since  he  is  led  to  victory  by  her  eyes! " 
Citeaux:    We  need  not  fear  him  whom  a  woman's 
face 

Leads  to  undo  the  work  of  God — Montfort, 

Go  thou  to  meet  him — 
Montfort:  Aye,  and  God's  for  us; 

Since  Peyre  hath  for  him  but  his  lady's  eyes. 


SCENE  II.     (Evening  of  same  day.) 

(The  church  of  St.  Nazaire  in  Beziers,  thronged  with 
citizens,  women,  and  children  to  the  number  of 
eight  thousand.  The  noise  of  the  siege  outside 
is  heardt  above  the  continuous  ringing  of  the 
bells.  The  people  are  thronging  to  the  altar 
for  protection  where  the  canons  in  their  Easter 
stoles  are  telling  mass.) 

First  Citizen  (near  the  door,  to  a  soldier  entering): 

How  goes  the  siege? 

Soldier:  They  make  no  break  as  yet. 

Citizen.    Would  Raimond  were  still  here! 

(Hums  a  refrain.) 
"O  Raimond,  due  de  Narbonne, 

Marquis  de  Provence, 
Cette  gent  fausse  et  felonne 
Fuit  votre  presence — 
Ces  buveurs  de  France!" 
Second  Soldier  (covered  with  dust  and  blood): 

The  bishop's  hearing  mass? 
Citizen.     Hath  Pedro  come? 
First  Soldier.    He  battle  gave  at  noon,  hast  thou 

not  heard? 

Citizen:    Why,  no ;  at  dawn  they  bade  us  refuge  here 

90 


Fourth  Day  91 

Our  wives  and  children ;  and  they  said  last  night 
That  Aragon  had  come  in  succour — 

First  Soldier:  Aye,  last  night 

Lay  Pedro  in  the  arms  of  some  fair  dame, 
Delilah  to  our  Samson — curse  her  still! 
At  noon  Montfort  attacked,  ere  Aragon 
Had  got  him  strength  to  fight.     With  naked  fist 
The  Englishman  struck  here,  beneath  the  chin, 
And  hurled  him  helmet  first,  to  earth;  tonight, 
He  lies  where  no  fair  dame  may  comfort  him! 

Second  Soldier:   Worse  have  I  heard :  our  Raimond- 

Rogier 
Hath  died  of  dysentery,  suddenly. 

First  Soldier:    The     Englishman     gives    sudden 
deaths. 

Citizen:  Jesus! 

First  Soldier:    I  went  to  school  in  Paris;  there 

were  known 

These  Englishmen  as  drunkards,  quarrelsome; 
The  Germans  fond  of  midnight  orgies  too, 
The  French  for  pride,  Normans  for  vanity, 
Poitou  folk  false  and  money-loving;  mean 
And  cowardly  the  Lombards,  violent 
The  Romans,  cruel  they  of  Sicily; 
Brabant  sent  brigands,  Flemings  vain  and  weak — 
Such  is  the  horde  the  Pope  hath  sent  Provence. 

Second  Soldier:    And  Montfort,  nothing  weak ,  hath 
all  their  evil — 

Citizen:    God  help  my  girls! 


92  The  Light  of  Provence 

First  Soldier:  Aye,  we  shall  neecfno  help 

To  die,  if  they  get  in! 
Citizen:  Our  widows  they 

Forbid  to  many  all  but  Frenchmen. 
First  Soldier:  Hark! 

What's  that?    A  louder  clamour  comes — 
Arnaud  (rushes  in):  Pray,  pray! 

Upon  your  knees,  good  people — breach  is  made. 
The  Montfort  comes;  I  go  to  save  thy  Queen — 
Surely  they  will  not  slay  you  at  the  shrines! 

(The  bells  ring  louder;  the  priests  are  inton- 
ing mass  at  every  altar;  the  acolytes  swing 
their  censers.  The  chant  of  the  besiegers  is 
heard.) 

"Holy  spirit,  thou  descending, 
With  supernal  grace  defending, 
Thou,  Creator,  mortals  bending 

Kneeling  lowly  at  thy  feet; 
We,  thy  creatures,  do  implore  thee, 
Fill  thy  grace  our  hearts  before  thee, 
Mortal  we,  divine  adore  thee 

Who  art  called  the  Paraclete! 
First  Soldier:    So  soon?     (Unsheathes  his  sword.) 
Second  Soldier:    The  bells  call  mercy;  sheathe  thy 

sword,, 

Kneel,  kneel;  the  Presence  is  beneath  yon  cloth; 
Sure  Folquet,  Bishop  of  his  Holiness, 
Citeaux  his  holy  Legate,  will  respect 
The  shrine,  the  sanctuary — 


Fourth  Day  93 

First  Soldier:  Nay,  they  fight — 

(Hymn  of  the  invaders  as  before.) 

"Thou,  the  septifbrm,  reward  us, 
Finger  of  God,  from  evil  ward  us, 
O  word  of  God,  turn  thou  toward  us 
Gifting  with  His  speech  thy  tongue — " 

Second  Soldier:    To  the  street  then ;  they  may  de- 
lay a  while. 

(Hymn  continues^  the  invaders  thronging  in.) 
"His  light  give  unto  our  seeing, 
His  will  unto  us  agreeing, 
Strengthen  with  His  strength  our  being, 
Right  to  do;  to  suffer,  wrong !" 

First  Soldier: 
Arnaud   hath    led   our    Countess,   with   those 

known 

To  be  arch-heretics,  her  ladies,  all 
Whom  Citeaux  swore  to  spare  not,  where  he 

knows 

A  secret  passage  underground  that  leads 
Through  caverns  to  the  towers  of  Cubardes 
Three  leagues  away — 
Second  Soldier:  Fight  then,  and  hold  them 

we! 

While  in  the  church  the  people  pray. 
First  Soldier:  Montfort! 

(Hymnt  as  before.) 


94  The  Light  of  Provence 

"Smite  the  foe  that  would  undo  us, 
Lead  his  soul  to  heaven  through  us, 
Thou  the  guide,  give  thou  unto  us 

Peace,  with  the  eternal  host; 
Give  us  peace,  and  give  us  even 
Joy  on  earth,  then  give  us  heaven, 
Grace  to  pray  thy  graces  seven 

Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost !" 
Second  Soldier:    Montfort!    O  holy  Amalric!  we 

fight— 

The  heretics  are  gone;  and  in  this  church 
But  old  men  and  the    women    pray.      Toll, 

toll 

The  bells;  the  priests  are  in  their  stoles; 
Tis  holy  Trinity— 

(Falls,  pierced  by  a  pike.) 
First  Soldier:  The  bells  toll  mercy— Oh! 

(He  falls.) 
(Hymn,  as  before.) 
Veni  creator,  eternal, 
In  thy  glory  sempiternal 
Bringing  us  thy  bread  diurnal, 

Holy  spirit,  Holy  Ghost! 
(MONTFORT,  CITEAUX,  AMALRIC,  FOLQUET, 
appear    with     the    Bishop    of   Beziers. 
The  bells  ring  louder.) 
Citizen:    Montfort!  we  do  not  fight!    God's  holy 

church, 
We  pray — the  Host — 


Fourth  Day  95 

Citeaux:  Slay,  slay,  spare  not  ye  any! 

(The  vast  throng  join  in  the  hymn;  above  the 

singing  and  the  tumult  is  heard  the  shrill 

tinkle  of  the  bell  of  the  Eucharist;  the  canon 

at  the  altar  elevates  the  Host.) 

First  Soldier  (dying) :    Sacrilege! 

Montfort:  Not  the  women! 

Citizen  (dying) :  Sacrilege! 

Bishop  of  Beziers:    All  are  not  heretics — 

Montfort:  The  women  spare — 

Citeaux:    Nay,  kill  them  all;  for  God  will  know 
His  own. 

(The  canon  falls  at  the  altar,  stabbed;  the 
massacre  goes  on,  the  priests  still  saying 
the  mass,  the  bells  still  tolling,  until  the  last 
ringer  falls.} 

Here  endeth  the  Fourth  Day. 


FIFTH  DAY 
(A  year  later:  July  the  22d,  1210.) 

SCENE  I 

(Early  morning;  a  foggy  day.  The  Rock  of  Menerba, 
as  in  Day  Third.  Path  in  the  ravine  below 
the  cliff.  Enter  two  citizens,  talking.) 

First  Citizen:    They  say  Provence  is  lost. 

Second  Citizen:  In  Carcassonne 

Our   daughters   wed   with    Frenchmen.    They 

must  mix 

With  mongrel  Frank  or  Gothic,  Roman  blood, 
For  France  is  English,  Alleman,  Walloon — 
And  Paris  speech  and  Paris  customs  rule. 

First  Citizen:    They   say  the  laws  of  Montfort 

tax  all  priests 

Who've  lawful  wives;  forbid  our  heiresses 
To  marry  any  but  a  Frenchman,  save 
By  Simon's  leave. 

Second  Citizen.    And  by  his  grace,  those  knights 
Whose  lands  he's  robbed,  are  suffered  to  become 
Tirelupins,  routiers  or  brabazons1 

1  Thieves,  tramps,  or  mercenaries. 
96 


Fifth  Day  97 

With  rights   o'  the   road — provided  still  they 

wear 

Only  one  spur,  and  bear  no  arms,  and  ride 
Upon  a  rossin!1 

First  Citizen:  Not  a  foot  of  land 

Is  left  great  Raimond  (of  Toulouse,  I  mean). 
The  other  died — though  uncle  he  to  Spain, 
Brother  to  England,  father  to  Navarre, 
Castile  his  nephew,  cousin  e'en  to  France 
And  of  the  holy  Roman  Emperor; 
He's  gone  to  swear  to  Lackland  for  his  fief 
And  holds  Provence  of  England. 

Second  Citizen:  Bah! 

"The  stone  shall  fall,  and  she  who  launches  it." 
Montfort's  too  high  for  John  of  England  now, 
Wrought  from  him  Magna  Charta;  still  more 

here 
Feeble  French  Philip  cannot  hold  him  curbed. 

First  Citizen:    Provence!  Provence!  the  land  that 

was  to  lead 

The  world  the  way  of  light!    To  Italy 
Hath  passed  the  torch  of  art,  and  to  rude  France 
The  brutish  power.     So  before  the  Gaul 
Fell  Rome  our  ancestor.     Provence  is  done. 

Aymeric  (coming  from  the  cliff  path  and  overhearing) : 
Aye — but  the  sparks  from  these  our  martyr-fires, 
Spread  o'er  the  world,  shall  blaze  again  to  flame, 
In  Germany,  Bohemia,  England,  France — 
x  Rossin  =  a  poor  red  horse.    Cf.  Rosinante,  Don  Quixote. 


98  The  Light  of  Provence 

I  saw  it  in  a  dream  last  night — Rochelle 
Shall  follow  Carcassonne,  and  stranger  lands 
Unknown  now  to  our  world  our  truth  shall  know; 
And  while  the  coming  ages  model  them 
On  us  for  earthly  courtesy  and  love 
Of  women,  and  the  high  respect  that  frees 
Women  from  being  but  the  drudge  of  man, 
Men  from  Rome's  slavery,  or  the  East's  dis- 
grace- 
So  shall  the  faith  that  now  Provence  hath  lost 
Rise  from  its  ashes  here  to  be  the  world's ; 
Our  church  is  not  a  stone,  but  all  of  earth; 
And  when,  a  thousand  years  hence,  men  shall 

come 

To  gaze  on  dead  walls  that  are  Carcassonne, 
On  blood  and  fire-stained  stones  of  Beziers, 
And  ask,  what  place  was  this?  they  shall  be  told, 
These  be  the  stones  that  Rome  o'erthrew  in  vain ; 
These  make  eternal  protest  of  her  sway, 
These  mark  the  birthplace  of  a  faith  reformed, 
A  lordship  living  in  a  people  free ! 

First  Citizen:    Provence  is  sure  the  first  of  Chris- 
tian lands — 

Did  not  the  leper  Simon,  Magdalen, 
Martha  and  Lazarus  and  Joseph,  he 
Who  last  did  touch  Christ's  living  body,  come 
Hither,  to  found  our  church? 

Second  Citizen:  Yet  Dominic's 

A  holy  man. 


Fifth  Day  99 

First  Citizen:  His  Inquisition's  curst! 

Aymeric.     I  dreamed,  the  shell  of  stone  that  makes 

his  font 

Shall  go  to  Spain,  to  christen  Spanish  kings. 
A  while,  they'll  overrule  the  world;  then  fall 
With  all  their  might  of  earth  to  England's 

hand, 

And  men  of  English  race  whose  faith  is  ours; 
Burn  they  the  last  of  us  of  Albi,  still 
The  faith  that's  burned  out  here  shall  live  i'  the 

snows 

Of  Alpine  valleys,  in  the  hearts  of  men, 
In  women's  hopes,  the  foam  of  seas — meanwhile 
The  Montfort  lion  claws  the  Toulouse  Cross. 
(Two  priests  with  light  wallets  of  provisions 

come  up  the  valley,  overhearing.) 
First  Priest:  That's  well  enough  but  for  the  mean- 
while— I 

Meanwhile  must  live,  beget  and  meanwhile  die, 
My  wife  they've  taken  from  me. 
Second  Priest:  Dominic's 

A  virgin  by  the  grace  of  heaven — not 
By  his  own  fault — and  he  will  none  of  wives. 
Calls  ours  no  better  than  our  concubines 
And  hath  prevailed  on  Innocent  to  make  a  bull 
Enforcing  celibacy  on  all  priests. 
First  Priest:     "Gignere  nos  praecipit  vetus  testa- 

mentum 
Ubi  Novum  prohibet,  nusquam  est  inventum. " 


ioo  The  Light  of  Provence 

So,  the  Old  Testament  bids  us  beget 
And  where  the  New  forbids  it,  I  forget ! 
Second  Priest:    And  since  you  're  rhyming  Latin, 

I'll  reply— 
I  was  a  troubadour — 

First  Priest:  And  so  was  I ! 

Second   Priest:     "Olim    quando    Dominus    ylem 

infirmavit 

Utriusque  generis  animas  creavit, 
Neutri  vero  generis  nullum  vegetavit 
Quod  debemus  gignere  satis  intimavit. " 
First  Priest:     It  soundeth  well;  translate,  I  beg. 
Second  Priest:  I'll  try: 

"Who  did  from  dust  each  living  thing  engender 
Gave  to  each  animal  a  separate  gender ; 
Since  in  his  wisdom  he  made  nothing  neuter 
He  bids,  as  nature  prompts — do  thou  recruit 

her." 

First  Priest:    The  rhyme  is  vile — 
Second  Priest:        Then  I  will  close  as  they  did: 
"Propter  hoc  et  alia  dogmata  doctorum 
Reor  esse  melius  et  magis  decorum 
Quisquam  suam  habeat  et  non  proximorum 
Ne  incurrat  odium  vel  iram  eorum. " 
'Tis  true,  it  does  not  scan- 

First  Priest:  Yet  I'm  persuaded. 

Second    Priest:    "  Pater   noster,    nunc    pro    me, 

quoniam  peccavi 
Dicat  quisque  presbyter  cum  sua  suavi. " 


Fifth  Day  101 

First  Priest:  I  understand — but,  lest  I  sin,  translate ! 
Second  Priest:  "And    thus,    according    to    these 

learned  sages 

Decorum  bids,  as  suiting  best  our  ages, 
Each  priest  to  keep  his  own  wife,  not  another's, 
Lest  he  incur  the  hatred  of  his  brothers; 
And  since  I've  sinned  in  seeking  thus  to  ease 
The  lives  of  every  priest  and  deacon,  please 
Each  priest  or  deacon  with  his  sweetheart 

say 

A  paternoster  for  me  once  a  day!" 
Aymeric:    Stop  your  dog-latin;  call  it  leonine 
Were,  sure,  to  make  a  lion  of  a  cur — 

(The  light  changes;  the  sun  rises  above  the 

morning  mist.) 

Our  leader  comes — what  news? 
Arnaud  {coming  up  the  path):    They  all  are  safe. 
\Ve  came  out  to  Cubardes;  stone  Carcassonne 
Now  holds  the  Countess  with  its  cliff  of  mail; 
So  holy  Jago  hides  the  virgin's  bower 
High  o'er  the  white-fanged  waves  that  break 
from  England! 

(Exeunt  the  two  priests,  talking.) 
Aymeric:    AndAdelais? 

Arnaud:  Alas,  she  saw  me  not; 

She  looked  beyond  as  were  I  but  one  lance 
Of  all  devoted  lancers  of  her  guard — 
My  eyes  did  pierce  her,  and  I  let  them  fall. 
Aymeric:    'Twas  well. 


102  The  Light  of  Provence 

Arnaud:        But  could  I  look  once  more  in  hers! 
She  seemed  to  scorn  me — Aymeric,  I  dreamed, 
And  I  have  written  down  my  dream  just  as  it 
came. 

(Hands  AYMERIC  a  paper.) 
Aymeric  (reads). 

I  dreamed,  my  lady  walked  bright  in  a  garden, 
and  I  lay  as  a  winged  thing  at  her  feet;  so  that,  not 
seeing,  she  stepped  on  me  and  bruised  my  wings. 
And  the  Lord  of  the  garden,  who  made  all  things 
therein,  her  soul  and  even  mine,  reproved  her, 
even  her;  so  that  she  said,  Lord,  it  is  only  an  insect, 
and  it  dieth  of  my  lightest  touch. — Then  said  the 
Lord,  thou  hast  such  power  over  it,  then  owest 
thou  all  the  more  dut}^;  for  even  as  I  to  thee,  so 
thou  to  him.  Neither  think  thou  it  is  an  insect, 
but  even  a  soul  with  wings  like  thine,  only  that 
it  hath  folded  them  beneath  thy  feet. — Then, 
in  my  dream,  my  lady  was  sorry;  but  she  told  me 
not. 
Aymeric:  Arnaud,  I  too  have  dreamed;  but  now 

I  see 

God;  and  His  pathway  marked  for  thee  and  me 
On  earth;  I  see  why  these  our  hearts  must  beat 
With  bolts  of  levin  in  a  frame  of  clay, 
Manikins  about  a  spark  of  primal  fire. 
Threefold  the  root  of  love  is ;  love  of  God, 
And  woman's  love,  and  love  of  child;  triune, 
And  passeth  from  the  flesh  to  Holy  Ghost. 


Fifth  Day  103 

Deride  not  sex,  nor  prize  it,  nor  refuse 

The  earthly  symbol  of  the  higher  love; 

She  that  hath  borne  a  manchild  to  the  world, 

Unwed,  hath  served  a  higher  end  than  she 

Who  dedicates  her  barren  dust  to  God. 

The  root  of  earth  may  bear  a  flower  of  heaven, 

And  in  the  sunlight  it  breathe  out  it's  soul 

It  may  be  death  alone  can  purify; 

What  heaven  may  give  the  reason,  I  know  not; 

Yet  God  gave  me  to  dream,  all  love  is  one. 

Despair  not  for  thy  love  of  Adelys; 

It  was  no  sin;  and  now  that  all  is  well 

With  her— 

Arnaud:  I'll  see  her,  Aymeric,  no  more. 

Aymeric:    For,  I  too,  dreamed;  I  dreamed  that 

she  was  dead — 
Arnaud: 

Pray  God! 
Aymeric:    Amen;  yet  when  she  dies  stay  thou 

In  earth,  by  Douce  of  Provence,  in  her  land, 

Warming  thy  life  and  hers  by  embers.     I 

Go  to  the  North  and  in  the  Northland  die. 

I  leave  thee  Douce — I  pray  thee,  keep  her  well. 
Arnaud:    I  love  her,  Aymeric — 
Aymeric:  I  trust  her  thee; 

Soft  be  thy  lives,  and  gentle  children  bear 

The  blood  of  our  Provence  to  kinder  days; 

Make  peace  with  Rome;  await  the  will  of  God; 

Be  thy  life  of  the  heart,  mine  of  the  soul. 


104  The  Light  of  Provence 

Some  day,  bid  Douce  tell  thy  child  of  me; 
My  children  are  but  words ;  yet  shall  they  die 
Never  till  distant  ages,  races,  burn 
Alight  with  truth  that  swords  have  stabbed  out 
here. 

(Alarum.     The  sentinels  cry  from  the 

tower.) 

Sentinels:    Montfort!  Montfort! 
Aymeric:  Christ's  mercy,  what  is  there? 

Sentinel:    Montfort!  Bernard  de  Ventadour  has 

come, 

Montfort,  Montfort,  is  slain! 

Aymeric:  God's  mercy — 

Cries  (from  the  town):  Dead! 

(The  bells  are  ringing;  the  great  gates  are 

thrown  open,  the  town's  whole  people  com- 

ing  forth;  a  hymn  begins  in  the  background, 

heard  louder  as  they  approach;  gradually 

the   cries,    Montfort!   Montfort   is   dead! 

die  out,  and  the  words  of  the  hymn  are  heard 

instead.     The   strains   come   louder   and 

louder  as  the  main  body  of  the  procession 

comes  upon  the  stage,  CENTRE;  BERNARD 

DE  VENTADOUR  approaches  from  the  gorge 

to  the  right.     The  hymn  ceases,  and  all 

are  silent.) 

Bernard:    Montfort  is  dead.     Simon  the  English- 
man 
Boasted  to  leave  this  land  the  mouth  of  hell, 


Fifth  Day  105 

Boasted  that  he  would  leave  no  stone  on  stone, 
No  man  at  arms,  no  babe  at  breast,  no  grave, 
No  maid  but  had  passed  through  his  soldier's 

hands 

To  breed  an  alien  people  for  Provence; 
A  maid  hath  killed  him. 
Multitude:  Miracle ! 

Bernard:  A  maid, 

That  Merlin's  prophecy  might  be  fulfilled. 
While  he  stood  arming  with  a  mighty  host 
That  monstrous  engine  that  they  call  the  Cat, 
Designed  to  batter  in  stone  Carcassonne, 
Which  Charlemagne  in  vain  nine  years  besieged, 
(They'd    made    a    breach    within  jthe    walls) 

Folquet 

Their  bishop — curst  be  he — 
Multitude:  Accurst  be  he! 

Bernard:    Folquet  had  led  his  pack  to  the  wolf's 

lair, 
Had    promised    pardon — So,    the    walls    were 

manned 

By  only  maids  or  women,  some  old  men — 
That  time  he  chose  to  enter.     Then,  they  armed ; 
The  garrison  and  some  few  who'd  escaped 
From  Montfort's  camp;  we  saw  the  breach  begin 
With  ravin,  rape  and  ruin,  murder-lust; 
We  armed  and  rushed  upon  the  Frenchmen's 

pikes 
A  horror  'twas  to  see!    And  as  Montfort 


io6  The  Light  of  Provence 

Himself  stood  aiming  with  that  devil's  Cat, 
A  slender  lady,  nobly  born,  whose  arms 
Were  whiter  than  our  faces,  and  whose  hand, 
Knew  but  to  broider  and  to  play  the  lute, 
Her  brother,  father,  dead  at  Montfort's  hand, 
Embroidered  now  her  life  and  his  in  fate. 
Aiming  herself  the  mangonel,  the  stone 
Departed  straight  and  split  the  Montfort's  skull. 
I'  the  fosse  he  lay,  amid  his  ravished. 
The  girl  herself,  when  the  great  roar  began 
From  Montfort's  soldiery,  leapt  from  the  wall 
And  gave  her  life  for  his,  but  undefJed. 
Aymeric:    A  prayer  to  God !    No  bishop  now  have 

we 
Yet  must  we  go  to  pray  God's  grace.     God's 

church 

Is  made  not  out  of  mitres  nor  of  walls. 

Good  Men !  come  let  us  pray ;  give  thanks  to  God 

And  pray  for  ourselves  and  for  Montfort's  soul. 

(All  go  out  but  ARNAUD.    After  a  moment's 

thought  he  descends  through  the  gorge  to  the 

right.     The    mists    drift    up;    the    stage 

remains  deserted.    Distant  choirs  of  hymns 

are  heard  from  the  summit  of  the  Rock 

above.     The  stage  has  become  almost  dark, 

when,  from  the  right,  ADELAIS  comes.    She 

is  quite  alone,  dressed  like  a  youth  in  a  coat 

of  mail,  but  carrying  the  helmet  in  her  hand; 

her  face  is  revealed  beautiful  and  white, 


Fifth  Day  107 

the  hunted  look  within  her  eyes;  she  hurries 
across  and  disappears,  climbing  the  path 
that  leads  to  the  eastle,  left.  The  stage  is 
now  all  dim.  AYMERIC'S  voice  is  heard 
calling  from  above,  to  the  left.} 
Aymeric:  Arnaud !  Arnaud ! 

(From  the  battlements  of  the  castle,  now  visible 
high  in  front,  signal  fires  begin  to  start.) 

Lavaur  is  ta'en!  Arnaud! 
(Arnaud  approaches  slowly  from  the  right :, 

as  one  in  a  dream) : 
Arnaud  (breathlessly,  in  broken  sentences.) 

Through  the  dark  moss  the  water  flashed 

All  in  single  diamonds 

Down  in  the  ferny  solitude  the  brook 

Ran  through  the  gorge  in  broken  light 

And  little  sparkling  falls  upon  the  stones 

That  lay  there  uppermost • — :below 

There  came  the  cadence  of  the  deeper  stream, 
The  steady  beating  of  its  stronger  heart ; 
I  stood  there,  in  the  night,  and  thought  on  her 
And  lo!  God  worked  a  miracle;  she  stood 
Beside  me  there! — I,  whose  heart 
Had  said  farewell  forever! 

Aymeric:  They  cry,  Lavaur 

Is  taken! 

Arnaud:  and  then  I  died,  and  met 

The  Virgin  Mary,  with  her  eyes,  in  heaven. 
Aymeric:    The  signal  fires  are  lit,  for  all  to  come — 


io8  The  Light  of  Provence 

Arnaud:    — So  then,  spoke  Fate — She  saw  me — I 
Went  out  to  wait  through  all  the  worlds 
For  her;  she  knowing, 
Halfly,  as  a  child  thinks  first  of  death. 
So  shall  my  soul,  in  some  day,  not  in  time, 
Greet  hers;  all  taint  of  flesh  long  gone, 
Almost  our  names ;  only  her  eyes  I  know 
Like  Mary  Virgin's,  worshipped  best  through 
tears! 

(He  suffers  himself  to  be  led  along  by  AYMERIC. 
As  they  disappear,  to  the  left,  the  signal 
fires  increase,  the  tocsin  begins  to  ring.) 


SCENE  II 

(The  summit  of  the  Rock,  later.) 
(ADELAIS,  standing  alone;  ARNAUD,  leaning 
on  a  parapet  in  the  foreground,  looking 
at  her;  AYMERIC,  DOUCE,  BERNARD,  the 
garrison   and   people  of  the  Albigenses; 
later,  FOLQUET,  AMAURY  DE  MONTFORT, 
CITEAUX,  and  the  FRENCH.) 
Multitude:    Lavaur!    Lavaur  is   ta'en!    Lavaur 

is  lost ! 

Aymeric:    Courage,  courage,  good  men!    Mont- 
fort  is  slain; 
What  of  Lavaur? 

(Arnaud  descends  from  the  battlements. 
AYMERIC  on  the  steps  of  the  cathedral;  the 
multitude  filling  the  street;  ADELAIS,  in 
full  armor,  at  the  left.) 

Multitude:  God    save   thee,    Adelys! 

Adelais  (lays  aside  her  helmet;  her  dark  hair  falls 

upon  her  coat  of  mail;  the  crowd  are  silent): 
Montfort  is  dead;  but  Folquet   lives.  Folquet 
Betrayed  us. 

Arnaud:  O  God's  ban  be  his! 

But  for  his  crozier,  I  had  slain  him  there 
That  day  he  charged  the  lie,  thy  life  on  mine — 
109 


no  The  Light  of  Provence 

Adela'is:    Ren£,   look  thou  to  Douce — that  old 

time 

Is  as  a  thousand  years  agone ;  and  I 
Die  with  my  people  here;  look  thou  to  her. 
My  people !     0  my  loved  hearts  of  Provence, 
Hear  what  was  done  Lavaur — the  last,  save 

this, 
Of  all  our  earthly  refuges. 

No  greater  guard 

Than  it  lies  from  here  to  the  gate  of  Spain; 
Beneath  its  scarp  the  Moorish  power  beat 
Like  idle  waves  that  scarce  prevail  to  stir 
The  seaweed  at  a  crag's  foot,  eight  long  months. 
Some  sorcery  was  used;  this  Spanish  priest 
Brought  from  the  pagan  East  a  spell  of  beads, 
Each  one  a  potent  curse,  bound  by  a  cord, 
So  made  it  what  they  called  a  rosary, 
Where  of  each  bead  was  made  by  Dominic 
A  spell  for  our  undoing.     First  there  came 
The  heat,  with  pestilence;  the  water  failed, 
The  springs  dried  up,  the  well  within  the  keep, 
The  ravin'd  rock  cracked  open,  towers  fell. 
Dame  Giraude  held  Lavaur;  her  men  fell  sick, 
Some  one  betrayed  her ;  by  a  secret  path 
The  Frenchmen  entered  in  with  Amalric; 
The  people,  of  Lavaur  passed  by  the  sword, 
Who  had  not  died  of  thirst;  Giraude  herself 
They  cast  alive  into  the  barren  well 
And  piled  her  corpse  with  stones — 


Fifth  Day  in 

The  Multitude:  Alarm! 

The   French    approach!    Alarm!     O    ring   the 
bells— 

Bernard:    Aye,    Folquet's    at    their    head — and 

Amalric 
The  Abbot  of  Citeaux,  the  Montfort's  whelp — 

Aymeric:    Amaury? 

Bernard:        Aye,  the  same.     Whom  have  we  left  ? 
Bertrand? 

Arnaud:        He  gave  his  life  at  Aigues. 

Bernard:  Guido? 

Arnaud:    He  died  to  breathe  a  message  from  our 
Queen. 

Bernard:    Thou,  Aymeric? 

Arnaud:  He  hath  turned  priest. 

Bernard:  Thou,  priest? 

Adelais:    He  never  was  in  mind  a  heretic! 

His  heart  bled  with  us,  but  it  yearned  for  peace. 
He  goeth  now,  a  Catholic,  to  preach 
To  alien  land,  the  truth;  perhaps,  some  light 
From  our  lost  embers — I  did  bid  him  go, 
And  with  him  gentle  Douce,  the  heiress  last 
To  our  Provence ;  and  Arnaud,  that  we  called 
In  our  light  days  our  Rene  of  the  Rose — 
Go  thou — and  ward  thy  sword  his  holy  bell 
A  priest  be  he — but  thou,  thy  Douce  wed. 

Arnaud:    And  thou? 

Adelais:  And  I?    I  go  where  goes  the  rose 

Or  where  the  wreath  of  incense — 


H2  The  Light  of  Provence 

Folguet  (bestriding  the  rampart):    Thou  shalt  die. 

Countess  of  Burlatz,  claimant  of  Provence, 

Mother  of  heresy,  and  corruptress 

By  thy  fair  body  of  thy  men's  foul  hearts — 
Adelai's:    Thou  liest,  there — 
Folguet:  Shalt  die ! — thy  followers 

Such  as  embrace  the  truth,  and  here  renounce 

May  live;  but  thou  shalt  die,  nor  mother  be 

To  future  sinners — 
Adelais:  I  would  not  mother  to  thy  son 

Therefore  thou  soughtst  the  church — 

(FOLQUET  climbs  the  rampart  with  CITEAUX, 

AMAURY,  and  the  French  army.) 
Folguet:  Ho  there! 

Ho !  bring  their  faggots,  pile  the  pyres  high 

Intone  the  Veni  Creator — Bid  all 

Come  see  their  Countess  burn.     First,  strip  her 
there 

And  bruise  her  body  fair  upon  the  stones ! 

To  all  that  help,  free  grace !  e'en  though  relapsed, 

Pardon — to  all  save  her! 
Citeaux:  Dost  thou  not  fear 

So  generous  a  delivery  may  not  commend 

Itself  to  heaven? 
Folguet:  Be  not  disturbed;  I  know 

These  people  well;  and  very  few  be  sure 

But  shall  on  this  day  find  their  way  to  heaven ! 
(During  this  scene  the  crusaders  have  been 
scattering  over  the  ramparts,  meeting  no 


Fifth  Day  113 

resistance.    AMAURY  DE  MONTFORT  takes 
his  place  beside  the  leaders,  the  piles  of 
faggots  are  rapidly  prepared;  the  "  Veni 
Creator"  is  begun,  but  it  is  overpowered  by 
the  songs  of  the  Albigenses  ("Gaire  non 
Dor  met ") .   As  the  church  doors  are  suddenly 
flung  open,  this  song  gradually  gives  place 
to  a  battle  hymn,  of  which  the  words,  at 
first,  are  heard  confusedly.    By  twos  and 
threes  the  townspeople  issue  out,  all  singing. 
The  words  are  now  heard  more  plainly. 
EUDES  and  PONS  with  the  soldiers.) 
Choir:  Misericordiam, 

Misericordiam, 
Misericordiam, 

ut  nobis  des — 

(The  largest  pyre  is  now  ablaze,  ADELAIS 
steps  forward,  on  the  steps  of  the  church.) 
Eudes  of  Burgundy:    God,  it  is  she ! 
Pons:  Hush,  none  can  save  her — Oh — 

(ADELA¥S  has  hurled  herself  into  the  flames. — 
Singing  still,  by  twos  and  threes,  all  follow 
her,  without  haste,  steadily.  FOLQUET 
falls  upon  his  knees,  sobbing;  but  CITEAUX 
remains  upright.) 

Eudes:    Oh,  who  are  those — the  maid — 
Pons:  Douce  is  her  name — 

And  Arnaud,  our  young  page —    My  liege,  the 
lives 

8 


ii4  The  Light  of  Provence 

Of  one  young  girl,  a  priest,  a  gentleman, 
For  France's  honour — 
Amaury:  Granted — for  the  fame 

Of  France! 
Eudes:    0   friends,    dear    friends,    go    back    to 

pray 

Ere    your    own    church    avow    you,   and    re- 
nounce— 
Douce:    Arnaud — 
Arnaud:  I  come! 

Douce:  I  love  thee — 

Arnaud:  O,  I  come — 

Douce:    Arnaud ! 

(The  Latin  hymn,  as  before,  is  heard  from 

within.} 

Choir:    Misericorcliam,    misericordiam,    date    ad 
nos  .    .    . 

(ARNAUD  flings  himself  into  the  fire  where 
ADELAIS  had  gone.     DOUCE  sinks  to  her 
knees.    AYMERIC  appears  in  Roman  vest- 
ments.) 
Aymeric:  My  sister — come ! 

(DOUCE  falls  to  the  ground.  By  this  time, 
nearly  all  the  heretics  have  burned  them- 
selves. As  the  last  couples  come  out  from 
the  church  door  on  the  way  to  their  mar- 
tyrdom, the  few  voices  now  singing 
cause  the  words  of  the  hymn  to  be  more 
distinct.) 


Fifth  Day  115 

Choir:  Misericordiam, 

Misericordiam, 

Misericordiam 
Date  ad  nos — 
Vos  qui  in  coelo  estis, 

Nobis  in  terra! 

Aymeric  (lifting  up  DOUCE  and  looking  at  her  tender- 
ly): Vos  qui  in  coelo  estis — nobis  in  terra! 

THE  CURTAIN   FALLS   SLOWLY 


Jt  Selection  from  the 
Catalogue  of 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Complete  Catalogue  »«mt 
on  application 


Seven  Short  Plays 

By 
Lady  Gregory 

Author  of  "New  Comedies,"  "Our  Irish  Theatre,"  etc. 
72°.       $1.50 

The  plays  in  this  volume  are  the  following: 
Spreading  the  News,  Hyacinth  Halvey,  The 
Rising  of  the  Moonf  The  Jackdaw,  The  Work' 
house  Ward,  The  Travelling  Man,  The  Gaol  Gate. 
The  volume  also  contains  music  for  the  songs  in 
the  plays  and  notes  explaining  the  conception  of 
the  plays. 

Among  the  three  great  exponents  of  the 
modem  Celtic  movement  in  Ireland,  Lady 
Gregory  holds  an  unusual  place.  It  is  she  from 
whom  came  the  chief  historical  impulse  which 
resulted  in  the  re-creation  for  the  present 
generation  of  the  elemental  poetry  of  early 
Ireland,  its  wild  disorders,  its  loves  and  hates- 
all  the  passionate  light  and  shadow  of  that  fierce 
and  splendid  race. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


Irish  Folk-History  Plays 

By 
LADY  GREGORY 

First  Series.     The  Tragedies 
CRANIA  KINCORA  DERVOROILLA 

Second  Series.    The  Tragic  Comedies 

THE  CANAVANS  THE  WHITE  COCKADE 

THE  DELIVERER 
2  vols.    Bach,  $I.5O  net.    By  mail,  $1.65 

Lady  Gregory  has  preferred  going  for  her  material  to  the  tra- 
ditional folk-history  rather  than  to  the  authorized  printed  versions, 
and  she  has  been  able,  in  so  doing,  to  make  her  plays  more  living. 
One  of  these,  Rincora,  telling  of  Brian  Boru,  who  reigned  in  the 
year  xooo,  evoked  such  keen  local  interest  that  an  old  farmer 
travelled  from  the  neighborhood  of  Kincora  to  see  it  acted  in 
Dublin. 

The  story  of  Crania,  on  which  Lady  Gregory  has  founded  one 
of  these  plays,  was  taken  entirely  from  tradition.  Grania  was  a 
beautiful  young  woman  and  was  to  have  been  married  to  Finn,  the 
great  leader  of  the  Fenians;  but  before  the  marriage,  she  went 
away  from  the  bridegroom  with  his  handsome  young  kinsman, 
Diarmuid.  After  many  years,  when  Diarmuid  had  died  (and  Finn 
had  a  hand  in  his  death;,  she  went  back  to  Finn  and  became  his 
queen. 

Another  of  Lady  Gregory's  plays,  The  Canavans  dealt  with 
the  stormy  times  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  whose  memory  is  a  horror  in 
Ireland  second  only  to  that  of  Cromwell. 

The  White  Cockade  is  founded  on  a  tradition  of  King  James 
having  escaped  from  Ireland  after  the  battle  of  the  Boyne  in  a  wine 
barrel. 

The  choice  of  folk  history  rather  than  written  history  gives  a 
freshness  of  treatment  and  elasticity  of  material  which  made  the 
late  J.  M.  Synge  say  that  "  Lady  Gregory's  method  had  brought 
back  the  possibility  of  writing  historic  plays." 

All  these  plays,  except  Grania,  which  has  not  yet  been  staged, 
have  been  very  successfully  performed  in  Ireland.  They  are  written 
in  the  dialect  of  Kiltartan,  which  had  already  become  familiar  to 
readers  of  Lady  Gregory's  books. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 


New  Comedies 

By 
LADY  GREGORY 

The   Bogie   Men— The    Full    Moon— Coats 
Darner's  Gold— McDonough's  Wife 

6°,    With  Portrait  in  Photogravure.   $1.50  net.   Bymall,$L65 

The  plays  have  been  acted  with  great  success 
by  the  Abbey  Company,  and  have  been  highly 
extolled  by  appreciative  audiences  and  an  en- 
thusiastic press.  They  are  distinguished  by  a 
humor  of  unchallenged  originality. 

One  of  the  plays  in  the  collection,  "Coats," 
depends  for  its  plot  upon  the  rivalry  of  two 
editors,  each  of  whom  has  written  an  obituary 
notice  of  the  other.  The  dialogue  is  full  of 
crisp  humor.  "  McDonough's  Wife,"  another 
drama  that  appears  in  the  volume,  is  based  on  a 
legend,  and  explains  how  a  whole  town  rendered 
honor  against  its  will.  "  The  Bogie  Men  "  has  as 
its  underlying  situation  an  amusing  misunder- 
standing of  two  chimney-sweeps.  The  wit  and 
absurdity  of  the  dialogue  are  in  Lady  Gregory's 
best  vein.  "  Darner's  Gold  "  contains  the  story 
of  a  miser  beset  by  his  gold-hungry  relations. 
Their  hopes  and  plans  are  upset  by  one  they  had 
believed  to  be  of  the  simple  of  the  world,  but 
who  confounds  the  Wisdom  of  the  Wise.  "  The 
Full  Moon  "  presents  a  little  comedy  enacted  on 
an  Irish  railway  station.  It  is  characterized  by 
humor  of  an  original  and  delightful  character 
and  repartee  that  is  distinctly  clever. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 


Our  Irish  Theatre 

By  Lady  Gregory 

Author  of  "  Irish  Folk-History  Plays,"  "  New  Comedies,"  etc. 
12°.     Illustrated.     $1.5O  net.     By  mail.  $1.63 

The  volume  presents  an  account  not  only 
of  the  great  contemporary  dramatic  move- 
ment of  Ireland,  including  such  names  as 
those  of  Synge,  Yeats,  and  Lady  Gregory 
herself,  but  of  the  stage  history  of  the  Dublin 
Theatre  from  its  erection.  A  section  of  the 
book  that  possesses  a  very  pertinent  interest 
for  American  readers  is  that  which  has  to  do 
with  the  bitter  antagonism  which  the  Irish 
actors  encountered  on  their  first  visit  <to  our 
shores,  an  antagonism  which  happily  expended 
itself  and  was  converted  upon  the  second 
visit  of  these  players  into  approval  and  en- 
thusiastic endorsement.  The  book  contains 
a  full  record  of  the  growth  and  development 
of  an  important  dramatic  undertaking,  in 
which  the  writer  has  been  a  directing  force. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


14  DAY  USE 

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